


Kind Hearts and Cat Flaps

by Ooshka



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-03-05 00:20:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 101,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3097988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ooshka/pseuds/Ooshka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma Swan wasn’t really a cat person, but she’d come to appreciate the tiny stray she’d given a home to.  That didn’t mean she needed another one hanging around, especially not a noisy, geriatric, thief with no appreciation of personal space.  And she definitely wasn’t sure about the cat’s owner, Killian Jones, or his intentions.  But just because everyone leaves in the end, does it really mean you can’t be happy in the here and now?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emma would hardly term herself an expert on cats.  She hadn’t even particularly wanted to own one herself, but her colleague David had come in to the station with a story about how they’d bulldozed the house down the road and found a mother cat and kitten living underneath it; his wife Mary Margaret was going to keep the mom, did Emma want the kitten?

Well, no.  Not really.  Emma thought the idea of being responsible for another living creature was completely terrifying.  And so, she’d protested, as best as she was able.

“I couldn’t.  I mean…I’m a police officer.  I work shifts…”

David had shrugged.  “Cats don’t care.  Plus they’re nocturnal…or, what’s the other one?  Active at dusk.  Anyway.  It’ll keep you company.  And your place already has that cat door installed.”

Emma sighed, and wished, fervently, that she had actually got around to getting the cat door removed from the back door of her little cottage.  The previous owner had been some kind of mad cat lady and it had been there when she’d bought it; locking it had seemed the easiest option at the time and the whole notion of replacing that panel of the door had been put on the backburner.

But now she still had a cat door, and there was the possibility that, with no relationship on the horizon and very little interest in signing herself up for yet another heartbreak, David was trying to set her up to be the town’s next mad cat lady.  It was not a prospect Emma relished, but she couldn’t come up with another excuse quick enough, and David just made the decision for her.  “Great.  I’ll tell Mary Margaret to bring her around tomorrow, after school.”

“Her?”

“Yeah.  We called her Tinkerbell.  I mean, you can change it if you want,” he shrugged and took a sip of coffee that had to be cold by now.  “But I think Mary Margaret already got her a collar and it would be a shame to waste the money.”

“Yeah.  Fine.  Whatever.”  At that point Emma had admitted defeat.  Maybe she could just give the cat to a shelter and tell David she ran away.  After all, what were the chances the thing would actually want to stay with her when it got there?

The next afternoon David’s wife Mary Margaret had arrived carrying a cardboard box with a few holes in the side, through which a pair of green eyes were barely visible.  When the box was opened in Emma’s living room, there was a flash of grey, the tinkle of a bell, and the kitten disappeared under the sofa in a blur.

“Don’t worry,” Mary Margaret said, unloading cans of kitten food on Emma’s kitchen counter.  “She’s just feeling a bit nervous.  She’ll come out when she’s hungry.”

Emma looked at all the cans and wondered just how much food one small cat could eat.  “Maybe she just wants to go back home, you know?  To her mother?”

Mary Margaret shook her head.  “Cats are meant to be solitary.  I don’t think they’ll miss each other all that much.  These days Bluebell just hisses at her.”

Emma wasn’t all that convinced.  Solitary was one thing, something that Emma knew far too much about, but she couldn’t imagine that the kitten under the sofa would be at all comforted by the fact she was Emma’s pet now.  No, she was bound to run.  After all, Emma had done it enough; all the times she’d left a foster home that had promised her something akin to a family and never actually kept up their end of the deal she’d been running herself, looking for a place she really belonged.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever found it.  Although Storybrooke, Maine was close.  But there was still a pull she felt, an urge to see if maybe, out there, _somewhere_ she’d find the family who’d given her up.

And the kitten would be exactly the same.

If it ever came out from under the sofa.

Emma put some of the cat food in a bowl on the kitchen floor, but the kitten ignored it and stayed where it was.  A quick glance under the sofa had revealed the same green eyes that Emma had glimpsed earlier, but the kitten didn’t join Emma when she sat on the sofa to watch some TV, and it still hadn’t budged from its spot when she went to bed that night.

And if it wasn’t for the glaring reminder of the kitten food left in the kitchen to remind her in the morning, Emma might have forgotten that she now had a cat at all.  It was only when she put her cocoa down on the coffee table as she went to find her boots, and came back to the sight of a small kitten lapping up the whipped cream at the top of the mug, that she actually had a chance to view her new roommate.

The kitten had eyed her warily, and puffed out its fur in a display of aggression tempered only by the fact that its nose was decorated with a big blob of whipped cream.

“Hey,” Emma said, gently.  “It’s OK.  I don’t bite.”

It turned out that Tinkerbell did, the kitten catching her with its teeth as Emma reached for the mug “Ow!”

Tinkerbell looked a little worried at Emma’s loud reaction and she immediately felt bad for the thing.  It wasn’t like she understood the rules yet, was it?  And she was just a baby.

“No more biting, OK?”  Emma reached out her hand and Tinkerbell sniffed it experimentally, before allowing Emma to stroke her tiny head.  Almost immediately the kitten started purring, louder than Emma would have thought was possible given her size.

“Well, I guess if you want, you can stay then,” Emma said, pretending she wasn’t being won over by the thing.  “But if it doesn’t work out, no hard feelings, OK?”

That was two years ago, and Tinkerbell, now a sleek plump-ish fully grown cat, was more than aware of the rules of the house. Most of them she’d set herself.  She didn’t like cat food as much as she liked the whipped cream out of Emma’s cocoa, the macaroni cheese from Emma’s dish, or the cookie crumbs that were left on the coffee table.  The cat gym Emma had purchased remained unused, but the mat in the kitchen was a mess of frayed ends and the rows of small holes in the living room curtains showed exactly which path Tinkerbell used to reach her favourite spot at the top of them.

Above all else, Tinkerbell laid claim to the spare pillow in Emma’s bed.  Every night Emma fell asleep to the sound of her purring, and in the morning she awoke to the not so gentle tap of a paw on her nose, reminding her to get up and put the cocoa on.

It wasn’t so bad, all told.  And given that Emma had all but given up on the notion of ever finding a human who she’d be happy to share that pillow with, Tinkerbell didn’t seem like such a bad companion to have.

But, expert or not, she did have some notion about cats.  Or thought she did, anyway.  At the very least she thought she’d heard most of the noises they could produce.

So when she heard a weird, almost mechanical sounding noise coming from her kitchen one morning she never expected it would be feline in nature. 

“What…the hell?” Emma asked, processing the scene in front of her.  Tinkerbell was perched on the countertop, which was a strictly forbidden activity, but it wasn’t the biggest problem in the room right then.  The problem was a skinny pale orange tabby cat who was alternately yowling at the top of his lungs and eating as much of Tinkerbell’s cat food as he could cram into his mouth.  Some of it didn’t stay in his mouth for long and he spat it back out, all over the floor.

Tinkerbell looked positively horrified, and Emma wasn’t impressed either.  “Hey, you.  Out!”

The cat didn’t even look around at her words, but kept on eating.  Emma had no choice but to pick him up, hoping like mad that he wasn’t riddled with fleas, or worse.  As she hoisted him away from the food he was so still so desperately trying to consume, she realised just how skinny he was.  It felt like there was absolutely nothing between his skin and his bones.

“Oh great.  A stray.”  Getting stuck taking it to the shelter was the last thing Emma wanted, but she couldn’t just leave it to fend for itself.  Its eyes were a faded orange with dark flecks through them, and it just looked old and desperately in need of a decent meal.

A meal that didn’t belong to Tinkerbell.

But as Emma held the cat, gingerly, and wondered whether she should lock it in the bathroom while she fetched Tinkerbell’s cat carrier, she noticed the glint of something around the cat’s neck.  There was a small red metal tag attached to a very scruffy collar that had possibly once been red also.  Peering at the words engraved on it she could just make out his name.  Mr Smee.

That was…possibly the worst name anyone had ever given a cat.  Far, far worse than Tinkerbell, which, Emma reminded herself, hadn’t even been her choice.  She flicked the tag over with one finger while the cat in her arms let out another ear-splitting yowl, but there was no contact number or address on the opposite side.  Nothing to let her know where the cat had come from.

But if he had a collar, then he had a home.  Where there was, no doubt, a large bowl of his own food waiting for him.  Without wasting any more time thinking about it, Emma walked to the front door, opened it, and put the cat outside.

“Goodbye, Mr Smee.”

Job done, she ignored Tinkerbell’s rather pitiful stares in favour of a shower and getting herself ready for the day.  Showered, dressed and feeling somewhat more ready to start the day Emma returned to the kitchen only to find Mr Smee back in place.

For a moment, Emma thought that she was seeing things.  But Tinkerbell was sporting an expression almost as bewildered as Emma’s and the ear-splitting yowl with which Mr Smee chose to announce his presence sounded again.

“Son of a…” Emma muttered, picking the cat up again and putting him out the front door.

That time, the cat apparently got the message and Emma and Tinkerbell could eat their breakfast in peace. 

Emma assumed that was the end of the matter; sure he might have strayed into her yard, and then her house, out of curiosity, but now that the cat knew he wasn’t welcome, he wouldn’t come back.

But he did.  He came back the next morning.  And the morning after.  And then the afternoon after that.  Twice again after dinner.

Emma was starting to get a little worried about him.  He might not have been a stray, but was he clearly confused about where he lived. 

“Do you think cats get, like, Alzheimer’s disease?” Emma asked David, as they sat in the patrol car eating lunch.

“I don’t know,” he replied.  “I guess.  But you’d know better than I would.  I mean, you like cats.”

“I like my cat.”  That was true.  Emma and Tinkerbell got along fine these days, but Emma had never taken to the mother cat that David and Mary Margaret had kept, the large blue-grey they’d called Bluebell.  Mary Margaret thought she might have been some kind of pedigree, but Emma didn’t think that made her any the more appealing.  Maybe it was the way she liked to slalom through Emma’s legs every time she arrived to visit, maybe it was Bluebell’s insistence that if Emma hung her leather jacket on the back of a chair, it was clearly meant to be a replacement scratching post.

Maybe it was the fact that she never once seemed to wonder how her daughter was doing.  Although Emma knew that cats didn’t think like that, couldn’t feel emotions like that, she still couldn’t help herself believing that Bluebell just didn’t care about Tinkerbell anymore.

And the thought made her a little sad.

But she had a whole other cat and his mental decline to worry about now, and she was at a loss as to what she could do for him.  Surely someone was missing their rather elderly and possibly demented pet?

David didn’t have any good advice on the subject, short of possibly asking the local vets if Mr Smee was their patient, and Emma resigned herself to making a few calls when she got home.  It would be easier if she could figure out what house he might have come from, but her little cottage was right at the edge of town, near the water.  One of a mirrored pair no doubt originally intended to be used by the families of the fishermen who’d once been the town’s main industry.

But there was a lot less fishing going on these days, and the other cottage was usually rented out, short term, to people on vacation.  Emma didn’t pay much attention to the comings and goings in the place, afraid that if she accidentally mentioned its occupants to David, he’d attempt to set her up with whatever eligible guy lived there.

OK, well, that had happened _once_.  And ended pretty badly when the guy, August, had finished the book he’d come to Storybrooke to write and had then packed up and left during the night.  It wasn’t like she was heartbroken over it; it wasn’t even like it was the worst breakup she’d ever had. 

In fact she’d been on a downhill slide since her ill-fated teenage romance with a drifter named Neal Cassidy whose inability to stay on the right side of the law had been their ultimate downfall.  Since then notable dating disasters had included Emma falling for her boss at the station, only for Graham to realise that his heart still belonged with his ex and to up and leave town to be with her again.  And last of all in the chain of break-ups that littered Emma Swan’s dating life had been Walsh, the guy who made custom built furniture and sold it in town.  The guy she’d pegged as being nice, and safe and everything she should be looking to settle down with.

And she hadn’t even been all that upset when she discovered he’d taken up with that red-headed midwife with the rather nasty jealous streak on the side.  No, by that stage she’d pretty much given up on the idea of romance, love or any of the other things that she was supposed to want so desperately.  It just wasn’t on the cards for her.  Perhaps it was the case that her childhood spent in a variety of foster homes with a bunch of people who barely varied at all had left her with some deep-seated inability to actually…well, love anyone.  She supposed that made sense; you couldn’t feel an emotion unless you’d experienced it yourself.

She wasn’t all that surprised then, by being left, again.  And there certainly didn’t seem to be any point to constantly banging her head against the brick wall that held her back from doing enough to stop anyone leaving her.

No wonder David and Mary Margaret had thought she needed a cat.  And, actually, now that she thought about it, they hadn’t even tried to set her up with anyone since they’d given her Tinkerbell.

Did they really think she was destined for life as a spinster?  Is that what she wanted for herself?  Emma realised that there were, perhaps, some hard questions she would have to face but right then was not the time to ponder them.  Not as she pulled up to her cottage and noticed that, for the first time in months, a light was on inside the cottage opposite, and a dark coloured pick-up was parked outside, and a rather familiar orange shape was making its way away from the cottage in question and towards the front porch of her own place.

“Gotcha,” Emma murmured to the interior of the car, as she pulled up and parked in her own driveway.  She was amazed she hadn’t thought of checking the rental for new occupants prior to this, but, in her defence, there’d been a real drive to clear up all the outstanding paperwork in the station and she’d been quite busy with work.

Mr Smee seemed a little perturbed when she scooped him up as he was rounding the side of her house; normally this didn’t happen until he’d at least made it inside and managed to purloin some food to boot.  He gave Emma a look over his shoulder that suggested she simply wasn’t playing fair.

“Time to go home, buddy,” she muttered as she marched across the street full of purpose and fired by a, in her mind, righteous indignation.  The owners, whoever they were, were clearly defective letting such an elderly cat wander around by itself.  She’d suggest that they took steps to remedy the situation, politely of course, and then that would be that.  No more Mr Smee sneaking into her kitchen in the dead of night.

Tinkerbell would be ecstatic.

Emma knocked on the door, thankful that Mr Smee was so light she could easily manage him with one hand.  If it was Tinkerbell she might have been in trouble.  Tink had some weight on her these days, plus, she was prone to being wriggly if she was upset.

Whatever, or, more correctly whoever, Emma had expected to be on the other side of the door it certainly wasn’t the man who opened it.  She liked to think that she wasn’t someone who was easily swayed by physical appearances.  She wasn’t someone who was easily swayed by _anything_.  But this man, guy…whoever he was, had one of the most handsome faces Emma had ever seen.  He had dark hair, blue eyes and a dusting of dark scruff across his jaw that just drew Emma’s eyes towards his lips…

But he was a terrible cat owner.  And that was what she was here to focus on.

“Yes?” he said, frowning.  Emma caught the slight British accent as he spoke and she was hit with a brief flash of curiosity about who he was and where he’d come from.   

 _Focus, Emma_ , she thought, before blurting out “I have your cat,” so fast that it might as well have been one word instead of four.

The guy gave her an amused smile and his eyes raked over Emma.  It caught her a little off guard.  Surely he wasn’t checking her out as she stood on his doorstep holding his half-dead cat in her arms?

No, he wasn’t.  As soon as he spoke again Emma realised what it was he’d been looking at; the uniform she was still wearing.  Ridiculously, she wished she’d changed before coming over here, that her hair wasn’t scraped back from her face quite so severely, that she had a little more makeup on, that she wasn’t wearing her heaviest boots and a jacket that did absolutely nothing for her.

“Have you managed to get yourself arrested for vagrancy, Mr Smee?” he asked, looking at the cat and not at Emma.  Mr Smee barely returned his gaze, preferring to look from side to side with great interest, as though this place was all new to him.  It made Emma even more worried about the poor cat’s mental acuity.

“I really don’t spend my time arresting cats,” she said, a little defensively.  “I just wanted to say…well.  Your cat.  He keeps coming to my place, and upsetting my cat.”  That wasn’t strictly true, of course.  Mostly Tinkerbell watched Mr Smee from a wary distance, almost as though he was a drunk uncle at a Christmas party, one more shot of tequila away from potential embarrassment.  She didn’t mark her territory, she didn’t raise a paw to him, and she’d only hissed once or twice.

But Mr Smee’s owner didn’t need to know any of that.

“I see,” the guy replied, but he didn’t say anything else and he didn’t make any move to actually take Mr Smee from Emma’s arms.  She considered putting him down on the porch, but was worried that he’d just make an immediate run for her house again.

“Look, I get that he’s…sick.  But surely that means you just need to take better care of him?”

“Hyper-active thyroid.”

“What?”

“That’s his problem.  Mr Smee’s.  He has a hyper-active thyroid.  He’s on medication for it, but it’s tricky to get the right dose.”

“Well…shouldn’t you just, you know…”  Emma felt like it would be inappropriate to say the words out loud, right by Mr Smee’s ear.  But she hoped the guy would pick up what she meant.

He didn’t.  “Do…what, now?”

“You know.  Put him out of his misery.”  The frown that crossed the guy’s face made Emma want to immediately retract her words because she’d clearly just made him miserable. 

“Um…remind me not to put myself in your care when I’m sick.  He’s fine, really.  He’s just a little hungry all the time.”

“Hungry?  Poor Tinkerbell can’t even get a look in now.  Do you know how much extra I’ve had to spend in cat food in the last week?”

“I’m sorry?  Tinkerbell?”  The guy had gone from affronted to amused in about 0.3 seconds. 

“I didn’t name her.  She came already named.  And it would have been a shame to waste a perfectly good collar.”  Now Emma was back to defensive.  “Look, just take the cat, and…and…just…”  She took a deep breath, hoping to get her powers of speech back under control.  “Just watch him, OK?”

She pushed Mr Smee into the guy’s arms.  Mr Smee didn’t seem unhappy with the development, although he did let out a loud belch, filling the air rather unpleasantly with the smell of fish.  “I will,” Mr Smee’s owner assured her, as he leant forward to peer at the badge pinned to her uniform.  “Officer…E. Swan.”

“Emma.  It’s Emma Swan.”

“Lovely to meet you, Emma.  It’s nice to know the neighbours.  I’m Killian.  Killian Jones.”

“OK.  Good to, uh…meet you.”  The silence after Emma spoke was a little tense and she thought she should probably leave, but wasn’t sure what the protocol was.  However Mr Jones decided to fill in the silence for her. 

"Well. Thanks, love. For looking after him for me."

"I’m not your love." The words were out of Emma’s mouth before she thought about them too much and the guy, Killian Jones or whoever he was, looked taken aback at the vehemence with which she’d spoken.

"Just keep him at your place, OK?" Emma added in the slightly more professional but not all that less stern voice she used for warning people not to do anything stupid when she was on the job.

Emma nodded, but didn’t say anything else.  She just turned and walked away, pretending she couldn’t feel him watching her as she crossed the street.

She thought that would be the end of the matter and that Mr Smee would stay on his own property from now on. And certainly he didn’t make an appearance at all that night and Tinkerbell seemed slightly bewildered by that, constantly looking over her shoulder as she ate her cat food, perhaps wondering how long she’d have sole possession of her bowl.

Emma was also pondering the goings-on in the rented cottage, but for an entirely different reason.  She was curious about Mr Smee’s owner…just because she was, really.  It was an odd feeling and one she didn’t entirely trust.

But the peace that she and Tinkerbell enjoyed was shattered the next morning by a familiar clatter at the cat door followed by an even more familiar yowl as Mr Smee landed on the doormat.

“Really?” Emma asked him, but he didn’t seem to have an answer to that.  Emma hoped his owner did because he was going back home just as soon as she and Tinkerbell finished their cocoa.  And if she maybe let Mr Smee have a taste of whipped cream, because, honestly, he was just skin and bones and needed fattening up, then she wasn’t exactly going to confess that to Mr Jones.

He was just getting in his truck when Emma fronted up, Mr Smee once again in her arms.  “You need to actually feed your cat occasionally.”  She shoved the cat in his direction which was a mistake because he wasn’t expecting it and their arms ended up a little tangled with Mr Smee caught in the middle.  It was all highly embarrassing, and, strangely, a little enjoyable. 

“Oh, he’s had breakfast,” Mr Jones replied.  “One of us ate all the bacon.”

“Well _one of you_ finished it up with Tinkerbell’s breakfast and my whipped cream, so I think he’s done alright for himself.”

Mr Jones put Mr Smee gently down on the porch and turned to face Emma.  “He has.  No one invited me for breakfast.”  He gave Emma a bright smile and she thought, briefly, that he looked even more handsome in full daylight than he had the night before.

Well, she wasn’t going to be charmed by him.  That was for certain.

“He wasn’t invited.  He just…barges in through the cat door.  And then he yowls the place down and steals all the food.”

“Ah, a cat flap.  Well, cats will wander, love.  There’s not much you can do if you’re not prepared to lock him out.”

“I’m not your love.”  Emma turned and stalked off, feeling decidedly unsettled by the encounter.  She was in the right, surely?  She didn’t have to put up with a strange cat wandering through her house and stealing food, and she certainly didn’t have to stand there while some guy she barely knew called her love.

No, she was totally in the right on this one.  And he was correct, she should just lock Mr Smee out.

Her experiment with locking the cat door did not go well.  Tinkerbell refused to come anywhere near her when she finally got inside, Emma having not even realised she was standing out there.  Emma could tell when Mr Smee wanted to come inside, however, as he yowled and banged the door and eventually managed to wedge a paw under the flap and nearly wrench it up.

Emma sighed, and relented.   It just wasn’t worth the bother.  “Why are you here and not over there?  With him?” she asked the cat, but he didn’t an answer.

What she really wanted to ask was why Mr Jones was here in Storybrooke, and what he was currently doing, but that just seemed ridiculous.  Like Mr Smee would know the answer to any of that.

She went to bed a little fed up with herself for being hung up on a guy when she really should know better and she awoke to a rustling in her kitchen pantry that turned out to be a very happy Mr Smee amid a pile of dry cat food he’d managed to tip out of its container at some point during the night.

Things clearly needed to change around here.

“I’m still having problems with that cat,” Emma informed David, as they tidied away some evidence at the station. 

“What?  Tinkerbell?”

“No.  The cat that keeps coming in.  Mr Smee.  I, uh…I found his owner.  He’s renting the cottage across from mine.”

“Who?  The cat?”

“Its owner.”  Emma was interested in what David knew about the guy, given he’d just come to town, but she wasn’t letting on that she’d already done her research.  From what she knew Killian Jones was employed as a contractor for the boat-building company owned by Eric Prince, the one that made all the really expensive yachts for people who got to sail to the Hamptons.  Or Bermuda.  Or anywhere, really.

David nodded, and then sighed when he realised the pickaxe he’d been filing had pierced through the plastic bag they’d stored it in.  Turning to reach a fresh one he asked “Did you tell him to keep his cat inside?”

“He didn’t seem inclined to lock him in.  And, I mean…I don’t know anything about the guy.  I think he’s just here temporarily.    For one thing he’s British…”

Emma waited to see what David’s reaction to the news that there was a guy living opposite her, but he seemed far more interested in getting the pickaxe in the new plastic bag without ripping it.  “You don’t seem all that interested in him,” Emma prompted in the end.

“Well, unless he’s about to threaten anyone with a pickaxe then, no, I guess I’m not.”

Emma sighed and tried to think of a way to phrase what she wanted to say without it seeming petulant, but it ended up sounding a little whiny anyway.  “You used to try to set me up with them all.”

“All, who?”

“Guys.  People who came and rented one of the places.  Anyone really.  And then, I just realised the other day, you and Mary Margaret got me a cat and stopped doing all of that.”

“Ah.  Yes.  Well, uh…”  David’s gaze shifted from the pickaxe to the wall and back again but he didn’t meet Emma’s eyes.

“What?” she prompted.

“You know…we discussed it…me and Mary Margaret and you always seemed a little prickly about it.  So we figured you were fine.  As you were.  And you have Tinkerbell anyway, now.”

Emma sighed and nodded, but couldn’t bring herself to form any words that really agreed with David’s assessment.  For one thing, fine was not the same as happy.

And she couldn’t honestly say that she was happy.

“But you know what you should do?” David said suddenly, and quite brightly.

“What?”

“Get one of those kits that make the cat door magnetic…so the cat has to wear a special magnet on its collar to open it, and other cats can’t get in.  If you get one, I’ll help you fit that.  That’ll solve all your problems.”  David looked pleased with his solution and, although Emma wasn’t convinced that it would, indeed, solve all her problems, she agreed anyway.

God forbid she be her usual prickly self about it.

Later on, when she walked around the corner to the bakery called Olaf’s, craving something sweet and filling, she was still wondering why it made her feel so down that David and Mary Margaret had stopped even trying to find her someone.  Sure, she hadn’t always appreciated it.  Sure, a lot of it had consisted on her going on absolutely pointless dates with guys she had nothing in common with.  Sure, their one success was August Booth, and look how that ended?

But all the same, at least they were trying.  At least it showed they cared…or something.  Tinkerbell was nice enough, but mostly she cared about Emma being there to replenish her food and make sure the heating got turned on in winter.  It wasn’t quite the same.

The bakery’s owner, Elsa Halverson, stopped kneading dough when Emma walked in and wiped her flour-dipped hands on her apron.  “That kind of day, huh?”

Emma nodded, wondering if her misery was written that clearly on her face.

“I thought so.  Nothing like a hard day at work to send you in search of a blueberry Danish.”  Elsa moved away from the area where she prepared the bread to the cabinet where she kept the sweet things.  It was sadly depleted at this time of day.  “Hmm, no blueberry.  Can I interest you in a chocolate croissant?

Emma shrugged and then realised that wasn’t a real answer.  “Sure, Elsa.  I might as well go all in.”

Elsa gave her a long look over.  “Chocolate’s better for the heart anyway.  At least, that’s my sister’s reasoning behind…well.  Most of her chocolate consumption.”  Elsa put the croissant in a box and handed it to Emma.

“Oh.  My heart’s fine,” she replied, passing over a couple of notes.  “I mean…I guess I just got told I’m prickly so it’s hard to find me a date.  But, you know, that’s not news.”

“You’re prickly Emma.  But not un-dateable.”  Elsa smiled kindly and pushed her long silver-blonde braid back over her shoulder.

Emma didn’t feel all that comforted.  “So, how do you manage?  I mean, no one’s setting you up, either…not your sister, or anyone.  And you’re OK with that?”

“Sure I am.”  Elsa seemed to find the question surprising.  “I’m really happy on my own.”

Emma felt a little embarrassed about asking.  “Of course you are.  Yeah.  I mean…I know.  It’s fine, really.”  She turned and started to walk out of the store.

“Emma?”  The sound of Elsa calling her back made Emma turn around.  “It’s OK not to be…happy, that is.  You don’t have to just settle for what you have just because it’s hard to believe you might deserve anything better.”

“Yeah, uh…”  Emma was more than just a little embarrassed now.  She regretted bringing the subject up because of course it came back to her situation and, really, aside from learning that she was a little bit prickly she hadn’t heard anything she didn’t expect from David.  Quite why it had made her feel so suddenly on edge and unsettled, she didn’t know.

And expecting answers from a baker was just ridiculous.

“I’ll see you around Elsa.  Thanks for the croissant.”

But the croissant didn’t fix Emma’s problems and nor did the upgrade to the cat door.  Tinkerbell struggled to get the magnet on her collar to line up with the one David had fitted to the door and spent a lot of time banging on it in frustration while Mr Smee watched her curiously.

And then when Tinkerbell began bringing home discarded objects, it all became a little much for both Emma and her cat.  Once again Emma found herself banging on the door of the rental cottage across the street. 

Killian Jones answered the door looking as though she’d dragged him out of bed, which was a real possibility given the early hour.  But she’d had enough, she really had, and she wasn’t even going to allow herself a moment to appreciate how good he looked, all sort of warm and rumpled, and how that probably wasn’t even fair given the current state of her own hair.

“I tried to keep him out,” Emma blurted out, as Mr Jones squinted at her.  “I got one of those magnetic things, for the cat door.  But all that has happened is that Tinkerbell has brought home three paperclips, two rusty nails, something that might have come from a watch, and then, this morning, a teaspoon.  The magnet on her collar doesn’t work with that stuff stuck on it, and she can’t get in.  And she’s so _miserable_ , stuck outside and watching everyone else just…going on without her.  Like they don’t care that she’s been left out.  And do you know what the worst part is?”

Mr Jones shook his head and Emma continued on.  “Mr Smee still got in.  Through the bedroom window, I think.  I woke up, and he was on the bed with me.  I just…”  She threw up her hands in resignation.  “I don’t know what to do anymore.”

He regarded Emma for a moment and she suddenly felt exposed under his gaze.  She didn’t really need him to do anything, after all.  She just wanted him to know about all the trouble Mr Smee was causing…mainly for Tinkerbell.  It wasn’t like he really cared, so, she’d just leave him to the rest of his day.

And she was about to flee the scene when Mr Jones scratched at the back of his head before speaking.  “I’ll fix it.”

“What?  How?” 

“The…uh.  Cat flap?  I could take a look at it.”

“You’ll take the magnet off so Tinkerbell can use it again?”

“Well, I’d hate _Tinkerbell_ to be unhappy, so yes.” 

Emma thought for a moment.  “OK.  Fine.  Good.”  She realised that she didn’t sound overly grateful and tried to amend that.  “I appreciate the offer, Mr Jones.”

“It’s Killian.  Mr Jones is a bit…formal.”

“Well…OK.  But it feels a bit weird to be on a first name basis with you, and not with your cat.”

Killian laughed at that.  “He’s a different generation, and a stickler for formalities.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for that. But you, know.  I still appreciate you helping out.”

There was a pause and then he continued.  “Well, lucky for you it’s Saturday so I’m at your disposal.  Just give me half an hour to get dressed and I’ll be over, alright?”

“Yes.  Fine.”  Emma was feeling more than a little embarrassed now; partly due to the feeling she’d over-reacted to the whole situation, partly because Mr Jones had drawn attention to the fact he was only wearing a t-shirt and pyjama pants.

And Emma herself was similarly underdressed.

“I’ll just…head back…and uh, see you.  Later on,” she stammered, walking backwards and gesturing over her shoulder at the same time, before turning away from him, hoping he didn’t notice that she was blushing a little now.

“You will.  And, uh, Emma?”

“Yes?” She looked back over her shoulder.

“I do like your pyjamas, love.”  With that he shut the door and she didn’t get the chance to remind him that she, definitely, wasn’t his love.

And it probably would have been churlish anyway, seeing as he was giving up part of his weekend to help her out.

Well, to put her cat door back to its previous state after her ill-fated attempts to keep his cat who kept sneaking into her house like some kind of geriatric ninja, she reminded herself.

He probably didn’t deserve special treatment for that.

She’d definitely tell him if he said it again.

And in the meantime, she wasn’t going to do anything special just because he was coming over.  As it was the first Saturday Emma hadn’t been scheduled to work in a while, and she’d planned to catch up on her laundry and housework.  She definitely wasn’t going to dress up as though he was a real guest; the tank top, old sweater and jean shorts she would have otherwise worn were just fine.

So if she was in the process of cleaning the kitchen counters when he arrived, then that was just because this was like any other Saturday.

“So, uh…this is your place,” Killian said, looking around curiously as she led him down the hallway to the kitchen at the back of the cottage. 

“I think it’s pretty much the same layout as where you’re staying,” Emma ventured, not sure if she should really give away the fact she’d been in the rental cottage previously.

“But this is less of a shithole.”

“Well, there is that.”  The last time Emma had seen inside the rental it was looking pretty down at heel.  She could only guess what a few more years had done to the place.

Killian looked a little sheepish.  “I, uh…sorry.  I probably shouldn’t have been so blunt.”

“Well, it’s not my place you’re calling a shithole.  And I don’t think you’re wrong.”  Emma gave him what she hoped was a conciliatory smile, and he smiled back.

“OK, so I’ll just get started then,” Killian said, putting down the toolbox he’d brought with him, and opening the back door.  Mr Smee must have been waiting outside as he immediately walked straight in, ignoring his actual owner and throwing himself at Emma’s legs.

“He does seem quite at home here,” Mr Jones commented.

“And that would be the problem.”

“Yeah.  You, uh…sure you want to change the cat flap?”

Emma pointed to the top of the kitchen cupboards.  “I think you’ll find that I’m not the one making the decision.  The teaspoon was a bit much and she’s freaked out.  Also, she doesn’t like strangers.”

“I’m not that strange.”

“Well.  She won’t come down while you’re here, but she will appreciate the cat door being back to normal.”

Killian nodded and crouched down to get to work.   Emma drifted around the kitchen making some attempts to clean up, but mostly just watching.  Eventually she gave up all pretence at housework and remained a silent observer.  And that was at the point where Killian nearly skewered his hand with the screwdriver.  “Ow!”

“Are you sure you’re alright?  I mean, you know what you’re doing, there, don’t you?”

“I work with my hands all day,” he said, with a shrug.  “I just normally don’t have such interesting distractions.”  He gestured to Emma with the screwdriver.

“What?  I’m just standing here!” 

“Exactly.  Who knew those legs were hiding under that ugly uniform?”

“Oh.”  Emma wasn’t sure what to make of that, not the part about her uniform being ugly and definitely not the part about her legs.  It was all a little confusing.

But, strangely, not as uncomfortable as it might have been.

There appeared to be no more mishaps with the procedure and, rather quickly Emma thought, Killian sat back on his heels and surveyed the cat door.  “Done.”

“Is it?  Are you sure that’s it and it’ll work now?”

He jabbed the flap with the screwdriver and they both watched it swing freely back and forth.  “I think it’ll be fine.  Tinkerbell won’t have any more trouble.”  He looked over at where Mr Smee was sitting on the kitchen table.  “Not from the cat flap, anyway.”

Killian started gathering up the pieces he’d removed and packing away his tools and Emma cast around for something else to say.  Probably ‘thank you’ would be the accepted thing, followed quickly by ‘goodbye’, and perhaps, in this instance, ‘take your cat with you when you leave.’

But, for some reason that she wasn’t going to press herself for, Emma didn’t feel like saying any of that.  And she definitely didn’t feel like going back to her original plan for the morning of laundry and housework.  So she did the one thing she did want to do.

“I was going to make some cocoa…do you, uh, want some?” she offered, as Killian stood up and brushed down the legs of his jeans.

“Are you afraid that if you don’t offer me something I might steal the sandwich out of your hand?”

“Well, I’m assuming Mr Smee picked up his habits from somewhere.  But no, I think I’m safe.”

She waited to see what Killian’s response would be and he took a moment to scrutinise her closely before he made up his mind.  Emma felt a little exposed under his gaze but made the decision that this was her house, her kitchen and she wasn’t going to hide from him.

Whatever it was he thought he was looking for, anyway.  Possibly he was just trying to figure out what else she’d been hiding under the uniform.  Her sweater was bulky enough, but it had slipped off one shoulder and she straightened it up.

“That would be most appreciated,” he said, in the end, and Emma gestured for him to take a seat at the kitchen table.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Killian added, dryly, to Mr Smee who was still stationed on the table.  The cat ignored him, stretching out his back leg and, rather shakily, beginning to wash it.

“I have to say, he snores.” Emma continued, adding the whipped cream to the top of the cocoa.  “Like, really loudly.  I didn’t think cats did that.  Do you think they can get sleep apnoea?”

She put a mug of cocoa in front of Killian and then sat opposite with her own.

“Thank you.  But I have to say, I don’t.”

“Don’t think they can get it?  I’m pretty sure the way he sounds isn’t normal.”

Killian smiled at her over his mug, the corners of his eyes crinkling.  “I don’t snore.”

“Oh.  Well I suppose that’s…interesting.”  She looked away from Killian, afraid that if she kept getting sucked into his orbit then she’d be tempted to find out whether he was actually telling her the truth.

And she wasn’t that desperate to not be alone.  Not to the point of throwing herself at the first man who turned up and flirted with her.

Mr Smee had given up washing and was looking at Emma expectantly.  Almost automatically she wiped a finger through the whipped cream on top of her cocoa and held it out to him, feeling the rough rasp of his tongue as he lapped it up.

“Did you just give my cat cream?”

That broke Emma out of her reverie about willpower.  “What?  No…I just.”  Realising she’d been caught and there wasn’t any way to get out of it, Emma gave up.  “Well, it’s not like he’s putting on any weight.”

“How much cream have you been giving him?”

“Oh, only a taste.  Now and then,” Emma said, dismissively.  “Just…well I always give some to Tinkerbell and I thought I shouldn’t leave him out.”  It was a really terrible excuse on her part, and she knew it, but all the same, she held her chin up and almost dared Killian to call her on it.

If Mr Smee didn’t keep coming into her house, it wouldn’t have even been an issue, would it?

“No wonder he’s over here all the time.  All the treats he can eat, a place on the bed, gorgeous female company…”

Emma decided enough was enough.   “You’re laying it on a bit thick, you know?”

Killian pointed over his shoulder.  “I meant Tinkerbell.”

“Really?  You’re going to try to charm her now?  I don’t think she responds to flattery.”

“Not even if I tell her that she has the loveliest green eyes.  Almost as lovely as her owner’s.”

“Phfft.  Well, she’s still on the cupboard so I don’t think it worked.”

“Ah, but these things take time, don’t you know?”

Emma didn’t have a response to that at all, and the conversation was going down a road she didn’t like the look of.  She changed the subject.  “So, how long are you in Storybrooke for?”

Killian shrugged.  “I don’t know…until the work runs out, I guess.”

“And Mr Smee?  He doesn’t mind moving from place to place with you?”

“It’s better, I suppose, than living on the streets where I found him.  Well, at a marina.  I’m not sure whether he was dumped off a boat or just left, but he was in a bad state when I took him in and he was just…”  Killian looked down at where his fingers were tracing an imaginary pattern in the wood of Emma’s kitchen table.  “Grateful, I guess.  I told him I’d look after him, and I’m doing my best to keep that promise.”

Emma nodded.  “They do, uh…keep you grounded.  Cats, I mean.”

“And you and Tinkerbell?  You’ve been here a long time?”

Emma shook her head.  “I moved here about nine years ago, I think?  It’s…OK.  I mean, I’ve been worse places.  Tinkerbell…she just needed a home when her mother didn’t want her around anymore.”

Killian raised his mug.  “Well, to waifs and strays then.”

“Waifs and strays,” Emma echoed, tapping her mug against his.

They drank in silence for a while, which Emma was surprised to find wasn’t all that unpleasant.  She was used to just having Tinkerbell for company, and, lately, Mr Smee, but the addition of Killian didn’t make her feel as though she had to be something she wasn’t, which was how she often felt around strangers.  Even without David helpfully pointing them out to her, she was well aware of her faults; too stern, too strange, and with absolutely no ability to put anyone at ease. 

But if Killian noticed any of this about Emma, he was polite enough not to say.  And his silence, the fact he didn’t fill the space with chatter like others she knew did, simply made her more curious about the man sitting opposite.

He stood up and carried his mug to the sink, and, as he did so, Emma got a clear look at the tattoo on the inside of his arm and she felt compelled to ask him about it.  It wasn’t anything elaborate; just a heart with a dagger through it.  But she was curious about the name inked underneath all the same.

“Who’s Milah?”

She could pinpoint the moment his entire body tensed and Emma regretted asking the question.  “It’s for, um…”  He hadn’t turned around and was talking to the kitchen curtains, which was always a bad sign.  From her perch up high on the cupboards Emma could swear that Tinkerbell was shaking her head at her, and she really didn’t need the cat’s disapproval to feel like a heel.  She was about to tell Killian that it didn’t really matter when he turned around and finished.

“She was my wife.  But she’s gone now.  Leukaemia.”

“Oh.  I’m sorry.”  Emma knew it was inadequate response but she doubted that there was an adequate one for this situation.  Mostly she just regretted causing him the pain of dredging up old memories.  It wasn’t something she relished and she couldn’t even claim the same kind of tragedy, just a whole bunch of…emptiness, really.

“Well.  Everyone leaves in the end, don’t they?”

Emma wasn’t sure whether he wanted her to agree with him or refute that statement, and mostly she just wondered how he could _know_.  How he’d managed to look at her and understand that it was the most awful truth she knew, and the one that, no matter how much she fought, she found herself living by.  Eventually, everyone would leave her, so what was the point in trying anymore?

Emma nodded, hoping that covered it.  She wasn’t about to show her own scars to this man, but they were no doubt obvious anyway.  Especially with the way Killian was looking at her now.

“I’ll take that as my cue to leave now, too,” he said in the end, forcing a smile onto his face.  He gathered up the toolbox, and then hefted a surprised looking Mr Smee under his arm.  “Come on, let’s leave the nice ladies to some peace and quiet.”

He headed towards the front door and Emma followed, not sure she was really happy about him leaving but not at all ready to ask him to stay longer.  She’d enjoyed the company, mostly because, she realised, it was just company.  It wasn’t another set-up orchestrated by David and Mary Margaret, and it definitely wasn’t Emma pinning her hopes on another guy who was going to let her down.

It _definitely_ wasn’t that, she reminded herself.  Good-looking he might be, but he’d made it clear, hadn’t he?  Everyone leaves, and he’d be no exception.

In some ways, it was nice to have it out in the open.

“Well, thank you for your hospitality,” he said, opening the front door.  “I’d make Mr Smee say thanks, too, but he’s a little shy.”

Emma laughed, glad to have the sombre mood broken.  “You know, he’s not so bad.  I guess.  I mean…” she gave an off-hand shrug with one shoulder.  “If he does get lonely, I guess he could come back over.  As long as he remembers that, uh, Tinkerbell needs her space.”

“I’m sure he could do that.  He’s not a bad old thing, really.”

“No.  He’s not.  And, uh, thanks.  For the door.  Tinkerbell will be a lot happier now.”

“Good.  I’d hate to think she was miserable.”

“Well, she’ll adjust.  And maybe it’s not bad for her, having someone new around.”

Killian nodded, and started down the steps, still with Mr Smee tucked uncomplainingly under his arm.  “Goodbye, love.”

“Uh…Emma, remember?  I think it’s…well, it’s less complicated.  If I’m just Emma.”

“OK.  Goodbye, Emma, love.” 

“Bye.”  Emma watched him start crossing the street, and then closed her door.  As she turned she nearly stood on Tinkerbell who had left her lookout post, perhaps out of curiosity, or perhaps just because she wanted to make sure that Mr Smee was gone for good.

“He might come back,” Emma said.  “And I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s that bad?  Do you?”

Tinkerbell flicked her tail in a way that suggested she was less than impressed and then led Emma back down to the kitchen to where the pile of laundry was still waiting.  It was less than fifteen minutes later that the bang of the cat door flap alerted her to the fact they were no longer alone and that Mr Smee had escaped his owner’s clutches.

Emma supposed they’d have to get used to that.


	2. Chapter 2

After the debacle with the cat door, it seemed like Emma and Tinkerbell had no choice but to accept that Mr Smee was a part of their lives now.  And, really, he wasn’t _so_ bad.  Once you got past the horrifically loud yowling, and the less than fragrant body odours it wasn’t the worst thing in the world having him visit from time to time. 

And, in addition, it wasn’t the worst thing if Mr Smee’s owner visited from time to time, either.  It was silly not to extend an invitation, or two, to Killian when their paths crossed.  He seemed more than happy to join Emma for the odd cup of coffee, or beer, or whatever she was offering because, as he’d pointed out, he was living in a shithole.

She was merely being nice.  Neighbourly, even.  At least that’s how Emma would describe it if anyone knew about the fact she occasionally spent time with her new neighbour.  But they didn’t, because, Emma had discovered, no one much cared to ask her about her personal life.  David was unusually preoccupied with something going at home that he didn’t want to share and there wasn’t really anyone else Emma normally confided in.  Sure, Elsa was nice enough, but Emma had no desire to discuss the ins and outs of her life as she purchased a blueberry Danish.

And, actually, she hadn’t been into the bakery all that often in the last couple of weeks.  Emma supposed she’d just been…busy with other things.  Like buying cat food and just…stuff.

Today, for instance, she’d had a day off and had bought, and cooked, an entire roast chicken.  Emma couldn’t really remember the last time she’d done anything like that…perhaps only once or twice in her adult life.  It wasn’t often, after all, that she had someone to cook for, other than herself.  And she generally didn’t bother all that much with cooking.

But she had some time to kill and the chicken was on sale and she had someone to cook for these days, well two someones, because what cat would turn up its nose at roast chicken?  Mr Smee needed fattening up and if she had some treats to feed him, then he’d leave Tinkerbell’s food alone.

Well, he wouldn’t, of course.  He seemed to be a bottomless pit as far as food was concerned.  But Emma was never one to give up on a challenge, and there had to be _something_ that Mr Smee liked more than Tinkerbell’s cat food.

Only a whole chicken was a lot of food for one person and two cats, even if one of those cats was blessed with the ability to eat more than his bodyweight in dry cat food.

And when she heard the sound of Killian’s truck arriving back at the cottage across the road, it seemed like the perfect solution to the dilemma of too much food in Emma’s kitchen.  At least, that was how she phrased it in her own mind.  What came out of her mouth was something completely different.

“Hey!” she yelled from the small porch at the front of her cottage.  “I already have Mr Smee here, so you might as well come over too.”

Killian turned around and leaned against the cab of his truck.  “You know, I can’t tell if that’s a ransom demand or an invitation,” he called back.

Emma huffed a little; this wasn’t quite how she thought it was going to go.  “Do you want dinner, or not?”

“Well, when you put it that way, how could I possibly refuse?  Give me five minutes and I’ll be over.”

Satisfied that the message had got through, Emma went back inside the cottage and checked on the chicken in the oven, although opening the door proved difficult due to Mr Smee’s almost complete refusal to move from his spot in front of it.

“If you’re hoping that I’m going to trip over you and drop the entire chicken on your head, you’re out of luck,” Emma muttered, dragging Mr Smee out of the way while he yowled loudly in complaint.

“Just wait until it’s done.”  Emma peered at the chicken not exactly certain herself when that moment would be, and closed the oven door again, only to watch her kitchen door open of its own accord, which confused her for a moment until she realised who it was.

“Well, I’m glad to see that Mr Smee isn’t being held at gunpoint,” Killian said, as he closed the door behind him.  Emma smiled at that although she thought that her effort to appear amused by his quip was probably a little weak.  Mostly she was trying to work out how she felt about him just walking straight in the door.  Like he was Mr Smee.

Killian, unfortunately, picked up on her reticence.  “I just… I thought it would be easier to just come round, and the door was unlocked…”

Emma waved him away with her hand.  “No.  It’s fine.  Really.  I was just…distracted by the chicken.”

“It smells good.  Here, I brought this.”  Killian held out a bottle.

“Rum?”

“Yes.  I realise that wine is the more accepted gift in these circumstances, but this is all I had.”  Killian watched as Emma took the bottle from him and placed it on the counter.  It seemed a little…odd.  And she was getting a bad feeling about this.

“Hey, so, uh.  This is just…um.  Casual, because I made the whole chicken and stuff…so, yeah.  You know?”  He knew, he had to know.  After all, hadn’t Killian been the one to point out that everyone leaves?

So this, this wasn’t anything resembling a date because that would just be the stupidest thing for two people like them to ever do.

“Oh.  Of course,” Killian said with a shrug, just as Mr Smee came over from where he’d been pushed to and wound himself around Emma’s legs.  “Ah, well.  Looks like Stockholm syndrome has set in.  I was going to stage a dashing rescue, but I don’t think it’ll be appreciated.”

“I seriously wouldn’t try to remove the creature with claws and fangs from the room with the chicken smell if you want to keep all your appendages.”

They both laughed and the strange thing was, at least as far as Emma was concerned, it wasn’t all that awkward.  Of course it wasn’t, because she’d been right and he _knew_.  Knew that whatever this was, it wasn’t in any way romantic.

It was nice to be on the same page as someone.

And to be able to hand over the job of mashing the potatoes to someone.  And to have a second opinion on whether the chicken was, in fact, done.  And to have some reassurance that the fact the spoon could almost stand up on its own in the gravy was a good sign.

All of that was nice, and none of it was on offer when her only two companions were feline.  Most of all, though, Emma really appreciated the chance to have an actual conversation with someone who could communicate in something other than a yowl.

“So how did you get on, with that thing at the pawn shop?” Killian asked, while attempting to actually pour the gravy on his dinner.

Emma removed Mr Smee’s claws from her leg and tried to answer without interruption.  “Oh.  Yeah.  Well we went back yesterday.”

“You and your mate…Dave?”

“David.  And I doubt he’d describe himself as a _mate_.”  Mr Smee made another attempt to climb Emma and she held up a finger in warning.  “I said you’d get yours later on.”

“Patience is not one of his virtues.  And I don’t sound like that when I say mate.”  Killian helped himself to a large helping of potatoes, before pointing to the potato mountain he’d created with the serving spoon.  “As promised the consistency is perfect.”

“Is that a dig at the gravy?”

“I would never stoop so low.  Despite the fact you seem to think my accent is fair game.”

“Well, it is fair game.  And, Mr Smee, I am not.  Claws away, please!”

“I think you’re going to have to give him some now,” Killian mused.

“Yeah.  I think you’re right.”  Emma stood up.  “But don’t steal all the potatoes while my back’s turned.  Seriously, I’ve been in enough group homes to know how to defend my share of the potatoes when it comes down to it.  And these days I have access to better weapons.  Be warned!”  She pointed a finger at Killian before turning to face the counter.  Emma located a spare saucer and put a few pieces of chicken on it, before setting it down beside Mr Smee who, in his excitement, practically knocked it out of her hand. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it, love.”  His voice, as she returned to her seat was subdued and there was something in his eyes that looked troubled and Emma wondered, for a moment, if maybe she shouldn’t have snuck some stuffing onto Mr Smee’s saucer as well as the chicken, and then she realised what had happened.

_Oh.  Stupid, stupid Emma.  Shouldn’t have mentioned the foster homes and just…ruined the dinner_. 

She picked up her knife and fork, not meeting Killian’s eyes and, after clearing her throat, tried to pick up her story where she’d left off.  “The pawn shop, right?  I was going to tell you.  It was the wife all along.”

“The…wife?”

“Yeah.  She was the one taking all those items he’d reported missing.  Turns out she was hoarding it all in the hope of being able to sell it somewhere and set up a little nest egg so she could get away from him.”  Emma shoved a forkful of food into her mouth and chewed it, not making eye contact with Killian.

“Sounds a delightful situation,” he commented.

“Yep.”  Emma speared some of the green beans.  “I don’t know how people do it…just, throw themselves into marriage, or a relationship, or…whatever.  And just hope that it’ll turn out alright.  I mean, don’t they know what could happen?  How they could just be duped into being with someone who isn’t the person they wanted?  It all just seems a huge gamble to me.”

Emma risked a glance over at Killian and immediately wished she could take it all back.  _Shit._ Of course she shouldn’t have started spouting off about marriage to a guy who’d lost his wife.  He’d probably give anything just to have the chance to hope for a happy ending, or whatever, again.  And now he never would.

She was a complete idiot.  And she didn’t know what to say.  There was silence for a few moments, during which time Emma was the only one eating, and then Killian spoke again.  “I guess you never can tell what goes on behind closed doors.”

“No,” Emma agreed, as she watched him pick up his knife and fork once more.  Grateful that the thread of the conversation had been picked up again, she barrelled on without thinking.  “No.  It’s, uh…I was just glad there were no kids involved.  I mean, it’s one thing getting her to a safe place…she’s staying with the Lucas’s now, but kids.  You just…you want them to be safe but there’s always that fear that you’re just taking them to something…worse.”

Emma stopped suddenly and realised that she had accidentally wandered into a whole other topic of conversation that just hit far too close to home and which she had no desire to discuss at length with anyone, lest of all Killian.

But he didn’t press her for some sordid exposition of her own history.  Instead he nodded, briefly, and still seemed to be somewhere else.  “It’s never easy.  For any of those involved.  If you’re one of the ones left in a bad home…even if it doesn’t seem that bad from the outside.  I mean, I guess that’s not much of a life, either.”

“No,” Emma agreed.  “It wouldn’t be…but I guess it’s still family, and that’s important?”  She hadn’t meant that to be a question, but the truth of the matter was that she had no real evidence one way or the other.  She’d spent her life watching families, but always from the outside and maybe that meant her perspective was completely screwed.

“Ah, well.  That’s the trouble isn’t it?  When it goes wrong…”  Killian paused and shook his head.  “Well, I’m sure you’ve seen it at its worst.”

Emma had, indeed, seen a lot of families who were slowly ripping each other apart.  It wasn’t, she suspected, quite the same as living it day to day.  But she didn’t want to get into the situation of trading war stories with the guy who lived across the road, because that would just do no one any good.  So they both had scars, so what?  Everyone did. 

The best thing she could think of at that moment was just to back out of the conversation completely.  “So, anyway.”  Emma pushed her fork through her potatoes.  “You know not to talk about this stuff, right?  I mean, it’s a pretty small town, and everyone probably knows by now, but I can’t be seen to be spilling everyone’s secrets.”  Emma shrugged.  “But I guess it doesn’t matter so much because you’re leaving soon, and you can take all the secrets with you.”

“Leaving?  Oh.  Yes, I suppose.”  Killian didn’t sound sure and that rang some alarm bells with Emma because he’d said it himself; everyone leaves.  And the guy sitting opposite her, the guy with the temporary job and the rented cottage was hardly likely to be the exception to that rule.

Not entirely certain as to whether they’d reached a comfortable agreement or she’d merely managed to create an uncomfortable silence, Emma went back to eating her dinner.  At least for as long as it took Mr Smee to finish up his chicken and start yowling and standing repeatedly on the saucer he’d just been using.

“No more for you,” she warned him.

“Tinkerbell won’t venture down for anything?” Killian asked, looking at where Tinkerbell was perched high on top of the cupboards, and Emma shook her head.

“No.  Not while you’re here.  She doesn’t really like strangers.”

“I’m not that strange,” he replied, softly.  “Perhaps she just has to give me a chance and she’d know?”

“Well, perhaps.  But I don’t like your chances.  After all not even the chicken has brought her down to our level.  I’m not sure you’re the same drawcard.”

“No,” he replied, somewhat ruefully.  “It seems that I am not.”

Emma watched as Killian glanced up at Tinkerbell again, and then his eyes travelled around the kitchen and back to Emma.  “It’s bigger.”

“What is?”  She knew her cat was bigger than his, but Mr Smee was ill and Tinkerbell was, well…plush.  Cuddly, maybe.  At any rate, you wouldn’t say _fat_.

“Your kitchen.  Bigger than the one in the cottage I’m staying in, anyway.”

Emma nodded while chewing some chicken.  This felt like a much safer topic and one she was more than happy to launch into.  “Yeah.  There was a little porch originally, through there.  Walled in, but not really part of the main house.  And I had the wall knocked through and the kitchen extended out.”

“It makes a big difference.  You know, it’s a little frustrating living over there and knowing what they could do with the place but just not being able to do it myself.”

“I guess it would be.”  If it had been anyone else she might have suggested that Killian try to buy the place if he was so keen on renovating, but what was the point?  He was going and it’d be rented out again, eventually.

She was going to miss Mr Smee.

When dinner was over Killian helped clear away the leftovers and wash the dishes and things felt a little easier between them, with none of that strange tension that Emma had managed to introduce with her ramblings earlier on.  Words were not her strong suit, she’d always been aware of that.  But this, just being around Killian, that was easier.  And dodging the soap bubbles he flicked her way as he washed made her laugh in a way that she hadn’t in a very long time.

Far, far too long to think about.

When the clean-up was completed, and Mr Smee had been bribed with a second helping to prevent him from causing some kind of terrible kitchen accident, they moved into the living room with a glass of rum each.

It had seemed to Emma that she should actually offer him the gift he’d brought.  And, therefore, ask him to stay a bit longer.  Well, you didn’t want someone to wash your dishes and then immediately kick them out into the night, did you?

And Mr Smee was here now, probably looking for somewhere to sleep, his appetite temporarily sated by two helpings of chicken and some of the lumpy gravy that Killian had let Mr Smee lick from his finger.  So it made sense for Killian to stay, at least for a while.

Killian led the way to the living room, poking the wainscoting and running his hand over the wallpaper as he did so.  Emma had been a little distracted by his examination of the door handle as they entered the room and didn’t pay attention to where he was about to sit down.  It was only because she grabbed Killian’s shoulder and hauled him backwards that she was able to stop him sitting in the old armchair.

“You can’t sit there!”

Killian peered at the chair in question.  “Please don’t tell me that Mr Smee has his own assigned sleeping space.”

“Well.  No.  Not really.  But the sofa is navy.”

“It is indeed,” Killian replied, giving off a distinct impression that he was humouring her.

“So…?  Ginger cats and navy do not mix.  I’ve had to persuade him to sit on the chair instead.  See?  That’s why it has the fuzzy blanket on it.  He likes the blanket.  But if you sit on it, you’ll end up covered in his fur.  He’s shedding really badly.  Is that with the hyper-thingee?”

“No, I think that’s just old age.  So…he doesn’t have his own chair, but he does have his own blanket?”

“Well.  Sort of.  I mean, at least that I can throw in the washing machine.”

“OK.”  There was an awkward pause where Emma wondered why Killian wasn’t sitting on the sofa now the matter of the chair had been cleared up, and then discovered that she was still holding onto his arm. 

“Oh.  Yeah.  Have a seat!”  She removed the offending hand and gestured to the sofa, watched him sit and then realised that, as the chair was off limits, she was stuck sitting beside him.  And she did, cursing inwardly that the proportions of the cottage hadn’t allowed her to spring for a larger sofa.

“So…how’s work?” Emma asked, trying to cover up her embarrassment and hoping for something to distract her from the very distracting closeness of Killian.  Mr Smee following them into the living room and clawing at the chair until she gave him a helping hand to jump up gave her something else to focus on briefly, but otherwise she was left staring at how close her knee was to Killian’s and just how much _space_ he seemed to occupy on the sofa. 

And the odd thing was, were it anyone else she would absolutely bristle with indignation at them taking up so much room.  Probably she would have let them sit on the furry blanket in the first place.  But Killian…with him it wasn’t so bad.  And she found that she almost, _almost_ , wanted to get a little closer.

He had very nice forearms, she thought.  She didn’t even really know that was a thing, or a thing that she liked.  But she did.  On him.

But, Emma realised a little belatedly, she’d asked him a question and he was being polite enough to answer it and she really should pay attention to what he was saying.

“It’s…uh.” Killian shrugged.  “Much like it is anywhere, love.  Mostly the same old drudgery dressed up in a new location.”

“Right.  Yeah.  Guess it doesn’t matter, then.  Where you are.”

“Well, it’s the people who make all the difference.”

“And the people here are…?”  Emma definitely hoped that this wasn’t going to be an excuse for him to spout off some cheesy line designed to get her into bed.  But all the same, she was curious and if he happened to mention that he… _maybe_ , enjoyed her company then it wouldn’t hurt to know that would it?

“Well I think Leroy is warming up to me,” Killian said with a laugh, before taking a sip of his rum.

“Leroy?  Yeah.  Well…that’s good.  I’m not sure he’s taken to me yet.  I mean…last time I tried to break up a fight he was in, he tried to punch me.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, love.  But I’ve no doubt you managed to dodge the blow.  You seemed pretty quick on your feet in the kitchen.”

“Oh.  Well.  Yeah, I guess.”  Emma felt uncomfortable with what might be termed praise.  At least she thought it was.  Better to move the conversation on.  “So…what makes you think he likes you?”

“He has, in fact, been gracing me with lunch.”

“Lunch?”

“Indeed.  Home cooking even.”  Killian raised an eyebrow.

“But…why?”  Emma couldn’t figure out why Leroy, who was known for being gruff to the point of downright abrasiveness, would suddenly take such a shine to Killian.  And she prided herself on usually being able to figure out people’s motivations.

“Well it took me a while to cotton on,” Killian conceded.  “But then I realised that Leroy’s wife Astrid is vegan.  And I don’t know how long Leroy has been eating her special nut loaf, but I have to say that the novelty, for me, wore off after a couple of days.”

The pieces clicked into place for Emma.  “And you’re the excuse he gives himself to go and buy lunch.”

“It would seem so.  I have heard that he’s very fond of the lunch specials at Granny’s diner.”

“Mmm,” Emma said, trying to remain diplomatic, before taking a sip of her own rum and enjoying the slight burn as she swallowed.  “I guess if your alternative is vegan nut loaf they would seem appealing.  But they are a bit…hit and miss, I guess is the nice way to put it.”

Killian clearly had no qualms about being more forthright on the matter.  “The tuna casserole is awful.”  He shuddered, dramatically and Emma laughed.

“It is, isn’t it?  I brought mine home once and not even Tinkerbell would eat it.”

As though mention of her name had summoned her, there was the tinkling of a small bell, and Tinkerbell appeared on the back on the sofa staring down at them.  “Hello, love,” Killian said in a soft voice that made Emma feel a little…well jealous wasn’t the right term because Tinkerbell was a cat, her cat, and the fact he was being nice to her was just because he was probably nice to all cats.  You only had to look at Mr Smee, or, rather, listen to the snores that were currently escaping him to realise that Killian clearly had a soft spot for cats.

But despite knowing all of that Emma still felt the bristling of something under her skin when he’d called Tinkerbell love.  Because no one here was his love, and it would be so much better if he stopped using that term at all.

Killian reached out his fingers and Tinkerbell sniffed them, and then allowed him to rub her cheek, as though she was a great ruler allowing a subject to pay fealty to her.

Tinkerbell had been really, thoroughly spoiled in her short life, Emma thought.

“See?  I said she’d get used to me in time,” Killian murmured, looking utterly transfixed.

“She won’t come any closer, so don’t expect that.  She doesn’t really like people…and she won’t sit on a lap, or anything.  She doesn’t do the lap thing.  It’s not her.  She’s kind of aloof like that.”

“Well, that’s OK.  I don’t mind aloof.”  Killian removed his hand from Tinkerbell, who looked annoyed, and turned back to Emma.

“That’s what everyone says.  And then, you know, it just gets boring and they move on.”

“I’m not that fickle.”

“Fine.  Well, you just sit there and see if she comes any closer.”

“Alright.  I will.”

Emma drank some more rum and realised that she had just goaded Killian into staying put on her sofa for an indeterminate amount of time.  Had he tricked her into doing that just so he could stay?  She ran through the conversation in her mind but couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment when he might have done it.  Still, whoever the fault lay with, the result was the same.  He was now looking quite happily ensconced in much the same way that Mr Smee was stretching out in the armchair he occupied.

It didn’t seem that either of them were leaving any time soon and Emma didn’t know how she felt about that.  She switched on the TV.

Half-way through the police procedural show they ended up watching, one of the dumb ones where the sexual tension between the leads seemed to give them free rein to not actually do any proper police work, Tinkerbell stretched out a paw and touched Killian’s shoulder with it.  Emma pretended not to notice the grin of triumph he threw her way and went back to listing in her head all the ways that the evidence had been contaminated by the dumbasses on the show.

But Tinkerbell’s movements didn’t stop there and Emma was forced to turn her gaze from the TV and watch as the cat slowly lowered herself from Killian’s shoulder, walked down his chest and finally settled in his lap.  Like she did that all the time.

“I definitely think she likes me now,” he said, more than a little gleefully.  He stroked her back and Tinkerbell started purring so loudly it was like having a lawnmower in the room with them.

“I think she’s just proving a point.  Like maybe she wants Mr Smee to get jealous.”

“I don’t know if cats really think like that.  But if they did, then her point is being missed because Mr Smee is fast asleep and that twitch…see?  That one.  I think that means he’s dreaming.  Or possibly about to fart.  Or both knowing him.  I don’t think he really cares what Tinkerbell is doing.  Not when he has the special blanket that the very kind lady who lives here put out for him.”

“That was just for couch preservation purposes.”

“I guess it’s lucky for me then, that I don’t shed.”

Emma was tempted to run her hand through Killian’s hair, just to test that statement.  But she didn’t, she held on very tight to her glass and turned back to the TV.

“I bet you do though.”  That made Emma look over at Killian again.

“What?” she asked.

“You.  Shed.  I’m sure I saw some blonde hairs on the sofa.”

Emma twisted around to look.  “Probably.” 

And then Killian did the thing that Emma, very carefully, hadn’t done because sitting close together on the sofa was one thing, and touching was something else again.  He reached out and ran a hand through her hair, which was loose for once because she hadn’t worked today and, maybe, just because she knew it was her best feature.

“I’m sure Tinkerbell puts up with it, though,” he murmured, continuing to twirl some of the strands around his finger while Emma stayed as still as she could.  She was oddly aware of her breathing and her heart beating, as though they were new occurrences and not the usual drum beat playing in the background of her life.

Killian turned back to the television, but his fingers remained entwined in her hair and Emma couldn’t exactly push him away.  Not when Tinkerbell was next to her, on his lap, purring and generally showing Emma that she was happy with him.  Emma would have felt like a grouch complaining when her cat wasn’t.

So she just let him.  It wasn’t so bad, really.  And he didn’t push it, or try anything else.  Just like he wasn’t trying to move from scratching behind Tinkerbell’s ear to rubbing her belly when they really weren’t at that stage yet, he didn’t suddenly put his arm about Emma, or hold her hand or do anything that could be construed as trying to seduce her.

And Emma appreciated that.

Mostly she appreciated that, because there was one small part that wondered, in an abstract fashion, what it would be like if he did try it. 

Probably just because it was so long since she’d been in that situation with anyone, and he was here now.  So it wasn’t that he was special, she was just lonely.

And Emma was willing to admit that much to herself.

All too soon, Emma felt, the show they were half-watching finished, Mr Smee rolled over and sat up and looked around blearily and Killian sat up straighter, causing Tinkerbell to jump to the floor with a tinkle of her bell that sounded, to Emma’s ears, a little annoyed.

“Well, I suppose we should leave you lovely ladies in peace,” Killian said, stretching his arms up.  Emma tried not to stare at the way the movement made his shirt ride up and expose the skin around his hipbone.  Nope.  Not doing it.

That way lay danger.

Emma was about to open her mouth to say that, really, he could leave Mr Smee where he was if he wanted because the cat seemed pretty comfortable, but it hit her suddenly how futile that was.  She could pretend Mr Smee was hers, for a while, but he’d leave soon too because he’d go with Killian.  And then there’d be no one here to share her couch and let her play at having something more.

Better to just let it all go now.

“Yes.  I guess so.  Work in the morning!”  Emma smiled as brightly as she could under the circumstances.

“And it’s a big day for Mr Smee. He’s back to the vet’s.  See if we can’t get the medication sorted, eh?  And then you won’t be such a bloody pain in the arse for Emma.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s good.  If he’s getting fixed up, I guess.  But you know.  He can come over any time, even if he’s not ravenous.  His company’s not so bad.”

Emma locked eyes with Killian and they stayed like that for a few seconds more than might be comfortable in other circumstances.  In this situation it was only slightly unnerving, as though he was looking at her and really seeing her, truly seeing all her fears and her disappointments and the baggage that she dragged around from place to place.

But Emma found that she didn’t really mind it all that much.

In the end, it was Killian who broke the silence, with a most unexpected comment.  “You have a very kind heart, Emma Swan.”

Almost instantly Emma waved her hands in front of her face, as though his words were things she could bat away.  “Phfft.  I’m not a kind person.  Really.  I’m a very prickly person with access to firearms.”

“No.  You’re not.  You care about Mr Smee and you gave Tinkerbell a home and you shouldn’t sell yourself short.”

Emma didn’t really know how to refute that statement, although she didn’t for a moment believe it was true.  Sure, she might be nice to a couple of cats but that didn’t mean she was out there doing good works all the time. 

Killian stood up and scooped a surprised looking Mr Smee off of the chair, and Emma followed him to the front door.  In the cramped narrow hallway she leaned forward to give Mr Smee a parting scratch behind the ear and found her face suddenly very, very close to Killian’s.  She could kiss him, she reasoned, if she wanted to.  And he did smell nice; clean and spicy at the same time.  Plus he looked like he’d be a good kisser.  He had a nice mouth and she could see his tongue run along the inside of his lips and it wouldn’t be so bad, to just kiss someone.  It had been a long time since she’d kissed anyone.

But Mr Smee let out a rather impatient yowl and the moment was lost.  “You’d better get him home.”

“I suppose.  Goodnight, Emma who is _definitely_ not my love.”

Emma smiled at him, although she felt a little disappointed with her new title.  Still, she managed to shake it off and wish both Killian, and Mr Smee goodbye and good luck for the visit to the vet, before she closed the door behind them.

And if Tinkerbell then wandered into the hallway and swished her tail in a way that suggested she thought Emma was an idiot for letting him leave, then she wasn’t going to pay any attention to it.  After all, Tinkerbell wouldn’t feel nearly so kindly towards Killian if she had to give up her pillow to him.

Emma wasn’t sure where that thought came from.  But it was a purely ridiculous notion.  It was never going to happen.

Ever.

She had thought that perhaps after Mr Smee’s check-up she might get an update on how he’d done.  Just a casual thing, if she ran into Killian, of course.  But she didn’t.  Whenever she left for work or got home his truck was conspicuously absent from the driveway of the rental.  And, even more oddly, Emma didn’t see Mr Smee for two whole days either.

It was…unsettling, after all this time. 

She tried to broach the subject with David, when they were at work, but Emma wasn’t sure how to introduce the subject.  Somehow saying ‘hey, I thought this cat really liked me, but it turned out he can get better chicken elsewhere’ wasn’t going to cut it.  Instead she started with something a little less, well, stalker-ish. 

“So that cat that was hanging around?  The elderly one?  Seems like he might be on the mend now because he hasn’t been around much.”

“Well.  That’s good.”

“Yeah…I guess.”  Emma wasn’t at all sure and if it showed in her voice, then David wasn’t picking up on it. 

“The guy he belonged to, the one renting that other cottage, he’s working down at the boat building yard?”

“Um.  Yeah.”

David nodded, like it all made sense to him now.  “Well, I think their work is about to dry up.  Maybe he just got him put down?”  Emma didn’t reply to that, couldn’t reply to that because to leap to Killian’s defence would just be silly, wouldn’t it?  And really, David was right.  He was just a guy who’d come to town for a while to do some work.  Who really knew what he’d do with his cat when that was over? 

“Oh hell,” David continued.  “And today’s pay day which means all those guys will be down at the Rabbit Hole tonight.  I guess it’ll end the same as it usually does; in a fight.”

“Are you working tonight as well?” Emma asked.

“Yep.  Gotta keep saving if we want a new place…well, you know.  We should really get a foot on the property ladder while we can, and prices have been pretty reasonable around here.  We had a realtor come and look at the loft, and she thought we should keep it as a rental property and write off expenses against it.  But I don’t know.  Sounds complicated.  I just want to get something with a yard.”  David looked a little wistful, and then he caught himself, and coughed.  “You know.  More land, better investment.”

“Oh.  Well, sure.”  David had been stuck on the bandwagon about property investment for a while now and Emma had already heard all of the arguments he’d presented as to why he and Mary Margaret should move out of the loft apartment they currently occupied.  Mostly they seemed sound, but she couldn’t escape the feeling that really ‘we want a bigger place’ would have covered it without all the justifications he kept wanting to add.

“Still, won’t be the same if you’re not living on main street,” Emma mused, her thoughts mostly elsewhere.

“No.  But then nothing stays the same forever, Em.  And sometimes it’s just time to move on.”

That brought Emma back to the here and now with a rather rapid jolt, but she couldn’t really articulate why; it was just a feeling that she’d had for a while now.  A feeling that somehow she was stuck in place while the world whirled on around her.

It made her feel seasick, and heartsick and just generally, well, a little angry.

“David, you just got a coffee stain on that report I typed!  Give it to me.” She snatched the offending bundle of papers off David’s desk and, while her curtness stopped him talking, his words still echoed in her head.

She was still feeling out of sorts when she arrived home that night and noticed that, once again, the place across the street was deserted and dark.  It was to be expected; Killian was no doubt at the Rabbit Hole with his co-workers.

But try as she might she couldn’t stop thinking about Mr Smee.  Or, to be more specific, worrying about Mr Smee.  Was he over there all alone?  Was anyone giving him his medication?

Was he lonely?

Tinkerbell wandered around the living room and sniffed at the blanket that Mr Smee had used, but didn’t stay.  Emma tried to concentrate on the program on TV, but it was one of those complicated ones, with three seasons of back-story and flashback built up and Emma had no clue anymore as to who had betrayed who and whether the mysterious benefactor of the plucky heroine was a bad guy or a good guy.

And once upon a time, she’d loved that show. 

She was about to give up and go to bed and see if Tinkerbell would join her when she heard the crunch of tyres that announced Killian’s arrival home.  She switched off the TV and hesitated for a moment before standing up and leaving the house so fast that she almost surprised herself.  Half-way across the street she hesitated, and nearly turned back, but she pressed on because she needed to know that Mr Smee was OK and he hadn’t just been tossed aside as an inconvenience.

It took Killian a few moments to get the door open after she knocked.  It appeared to be stuck and she was torn between helping him by shoving it with her shoulder or giving up and going home.  Either way the moment was painful and embarrassing and she just…shouldn’t have come at all.

“Emma?”

“Uh, yeah.  Hi.  Listen I…”  Killian cut her off before she could get to the speech she hadn’t rehearsed at all.  A part of her was grateful for the extra time to gather her thoughts, but mostly she just wanted to get it over with.

“Come in.”  He gestured with his arm, pointing down the hall and Emma couldn’t think for a moment why she shouldn’t step inside.  And so she did.

It was only afterwards, when the door closed behind her and she found herself standing in a small, dark space with Killian right behind her that she could think of a dozen reasons why this was not a good idea.

“I should have said to use the back door,” he continued, seemingly unperturbed by her sudden arrival.  “The front door’s buggered.  Wood’s warped.”

“Oh.  Right.  Well, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Not at all.  Anytime.  My door is always open.  Well, eventually anyway.  Come on through.”

Killian squeezed past her and led the way to the kitchen which was indeed, Emma noted, smaller than hers.  Also the walls were papered in a brown and yellow paisley pattern and the countertops were a particular shade of orange Formica that hadn’t been seen since about 1977.  It was all horrible.

But there, in the centre of the counter with his face buried in his food was Mr Smee, and Emma’s heart felt lighter, somehow, at the sight of him.  Although he was eating out of a takeout container with the words _Any Given Sundae_ written in rather large letters along the side.

“Is he eating ice cream?” she asked Killian.

“Uh…frozen yoghurt.  He is very fond of it.”

“Right.  Yeah.  OK.  Well, it’s him I came to see really…or ask about.  I just wondered how he got on with his check-up.”  Emma tore herself away from looking at the cat and went back to looking at his owner, which was a mistake.  Once again she felt exposed under his gaze.

She switched her gaze to the ugly walls.

“Great, actually.  The vet thinks we’re winning now.  He seems a lot less…yowly.”

“He hasn’t been over,” Emma blurted out.  “Since the night you had dinner.  And I was worried, that…that it wasn’t good news, that he was getting too sick and, I mean.  You’ll have to leave, sometime, and maybe a sick cat wasn’t going to be a good travelling companion…” 

Killian appeared to understand where that thought was going.  “Oh.  No.  No, I wouldn’t.  I promised him, love.  I’ll always take care of Mr Smee.”  He reached out and gently stroked Emma’s arm and she felt a little better at his touch, but mostly she was comforted by his words.  He did seem sincere.

At least she knew that Mr Smee would always have someone who cared for him.

“Well.  I should, uh…get going.  Home.  Tinkerbell might be wondering where I am.  She knows this is bedtime.”

“Oh.  Yes.  Of course.”  Killian didn’t move his hand away from her arm, though, and he took a step closer to Emma.  There was a warmth that surrounded him and it was all Emma could do not just cling to him for dear life, as though she was drowning in a sea of her own making and Killian was the only one who could save her.

But he wasn’t there to save her.  He’d saved Mr Smee.  And probably that was enough.

“You know, not everything is set in stone,” he said, in an off-hand way that wasn’t really off-hand at all.  “I mean, nothing lasts forever.” 

Killian gave her a significant look, his dark blue eyes sincere and, possibly, a little hopeful.  But Emma was confused because all he was doing was echoing David’s words from earlier.  And David had been right.  Annoying, but _right_.  Sometimes it was time to move on.

And Killian would. 

“No.  It doesn’t.  Well, except orange Formica.  It’s just…awful.”  Emma hoped that comment would focus Killian’s attention away from whatever he was trying to tell her, whatever story he had to sell about how they could still have a good time now, and didn’t she want to just have some fun?

And that was just all too complicated for Emma.  She didn’t really know how to do the ‘fun’ thing, and she wasn’t even sure she wanted to.

Her ploy worked, and Killian dropped his hand from her arm and turned to the counter, where Mr Smee was now pushing the frozen yoghurt container with his nose, trying to get at the last drops of his treat.

“Maybe even that will one day go,” Killian replied.  “That is, if the landlord has any foresight.”  He sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand.  “They could do so much with this place.”

They could, Emma thought, but they probably wouldn’t.  Not for a place that only housed those who were passing through.

“Goodbye, Mr Smee.”  Emma gave him a scratch under the ear, which he ignored in favour of remaining absorbed in the remnants of his frozen yoghurt.  “Goodbye, Killian.” 

“Goodbye, Emma love.” Her attention had been mostly on Mr Smee still and she hadn’t noticed how close Killian had moved to her.  Or, perhaps she had and she was ignoring it.  Either way it was a little surprising when he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, softly.  Just the barest brush of his lips on her jaw, and then he stepped back and watched her carefully, judging her reaction.

Emma gave him a small smile in return, feeling a little confused about everything, and then she turned to go, her steps down the hallway and across the street feeling lighter than they had when she’d arrived.  But while the kiss was nice it was the addition of love to her name made Emma feel happier than she probably should.  She allowed herself that tiny scrap of happiness, and went to bed trying very hard to switch her mind away from how nice it would be to actually be someone’s love.

Someone who wasn’t going to leave her, anyway.  Just once.  Just once she wanted someone to think she was worth sticking around for.

But nothing lasts forever, and everyone leaves in the end.  And if Emma had learned anything in her life, she knew these things to be true.

It was just a shame that little bubble of hope, the one hovering very near her heart, wanted to disregard it anyway.


	3. Chapter 3

Emma woke up the next morning feeling resolute. Hope wasn't going to get her anywhere. It was a ridiculous notion and it certainly wasn't going to change anything, and nor was the fact he'd kissed her on the cheek. If Killian was leaving town, then he was leaving town.

She'd miss him. A little, maybe. And she'd definitely miss Mr Smee.

Although the cat seemed to be back to his old self, which was probably bad in terms of managing his condition, but made Emma feel a bit better as regular visits had been resumed, along with his desire to pillage and plunder. He pushed his way into the pantry one evening and opened a package of dried pasta with his claws, in a fruitless search for the cat food which had been moved to a higher shelf.

Emma put him out the front door with a firm "Go home, Mr Smee," but, when he clattered through the cat door mere minutes later, she felt a little bad at her treatment of him and allowed him to finish up the macaroni cheese she'd had for dinner.

She did not, absolutely did not, feel at all guilty for the fact she was trying very hard to keep out of Killian's way. Not even when she delayed leaving for work because she could see him across the street removing Mr Smee from where he was sitting on the driveway behind Killian's truck.

Tinkerbell had eyed her suspiciously as she'd snuck down the hallway to the kitchen but she was just a cat, and, really, had no right judging anything Emma did. And she was doing it with the best of intentions because, perhaps, she'd be saving Killian from any awkward moments when he left town.

It was a good justification for hiding in the kitchen instead of marching out to her car and going to work, but it was lost on a cat.

Her tactics didn't work all that well anyway because as much as she could plan to avoid running into Killian in the street outside their houses, she had absolutely no control over his movements elsewhere in town. And that was how she found herself standing at the counter at Granny's diner, waiting for the coffee she'd ordered for herself and David, when Killian appeared at her elbow.

"Hello, love."

There was absolutely nowhere to hide and she wasn't about to get into the whole debate on the epithet he chose to use right then and there in front of Ruby Lucas who, for reasons known only to herself, seemed to have given up on actually making Emma any coffee and was now shifting things around below the counter very slowly.

"Hey," Emma replied, plastering on a bright 'gosh, how nice to run into you' face. At least that's what she was aiming for. God only knows what expression she ended up actually wearing, because there was a moment when Killian's face looked a little confused, before he did some plastering of his own and the smile he'd been sporting returned.

Emma noticed that there seemed to be a few of Killian's co-workers filling up a booth behind him. "You're not stuck with the nut loaf nobody wanted today?" she asked.

"No. Uh. Nope." There was a pause and then he continued. "It's actually kind of a farewell. Robin's leaving at the end of the week."

"Oh? Is the work drying up?" Emma had hoped to sound casually interested, but her voice rose at the end and she sounded anything but casual.

"Not for me," Killian replied, hastily. "But, uh, Robin…well, he's finishing up. He's got some…other matters to attend to."

"Sounds…mysterious."

Killian shrugged. "Not really. His wife wants to get back together and, as he seems to be quite keen on having a better relationship with his son, it's something he is going to pursue."

Emma turned and looked more closely at the group of me, especially the one they were all toasting with the beers they'd managed to be served incredibly quickly considering Emma was still waiting on two coffees. And where had Ruby disappeared to, anyway?

"Isn't he the one who was dating Regina Mills?" Emma asked and Killian nodded.

"Indeed. It makes the situation more…complicated, than mysterious."

"Yep. Nothing all that mysterious about that particular situation. It's hardly the first time someone's been burned by a short-term fling." Emma shuddered. "Glad it's not me."

She turned and looked back at Killian's face and he looked… a little thoughtful perhaps? Emma hoped it was because he was wondering where Ruby was as well and not because of any hopes he might harbour about short-term flings while he was in town.

Emma didn't want to just be a ship passing in the night.

"I suppose you're gonna defend him, right? I mean...don't guys all stick together about this?" Emma said, goading Killian into saying something that she could legitimately blame him for, because she wanted to blame him for _something_ , and blaming the man for existing was wearing a little thin.

He didn't bite at her taunt though, although she watched his jaw clench in a way that suggested he wanted to. Instead he leaned a little closer and dropped his voice so that it was low and urgent and way more appealing than it should have been under the circumstances. "I don't believe I know enough about the ins and outs of Robin's situation to condemn the man just yet, love, but I do believe, very strongly, that no one should miss out on a second chance. And if he thought that this Regina was his chance at finding love again then, well, this is just all very unfortunate for those involved."

Well, yes. Emma supposed it was all a little sad for the people it affected, but she still struggled with the idea of being granted a second chance when she wasn't entirely certain she'd ever been given any chances. Not to be loved by someone, anyway. Someone who'd actually stick around long enough to see whether it was worth taking that chance in the first place.

She was trying to come up with a reply that didn't expose her deepest fears rather brutally when Ruby popped back up again and saved the day. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" she said. "We just ran out of beans and I didn't know where there were more…but here you go, Emma. On the house for the wait!" Ruby pushed two takeout coffee cups across the counter.

"Oh. Thanks, Ruby. That's uh…very thoughtful."

"And what do you get in return for bribing the police force?" Killian asked, leaning over the counter towards Ruby. His demeanour was completely different from how it had been a moment earlier. Gone was the seriousness and urgency and in its place was something light and playful.

It was a little fascinating to Emma who felt as though her own brain couldn't keep up, still stuck as it was pondering the implications of everything Killian had said.

Ruby, however, was on the same page as Killian. At least the way she looked at him, eyes glinting through her thick, dark lashes suggested she was open to a little playfulness. This was all very interesting to Emma. In an abstract way, she thought. Because she didn't really understand how Ruby could just be so open all the time, so ready to flirt at just the drop of a hat.

Emma wasn't like that _at all_ , and, really, if Killian wanted a second chance or a fling or whatever he thought the women in this town were available for, then Ruby was right there, and she certainly seemed amenable.

Emma suddenly felt surplus to requirements.

"Oh, that's not a bribe!" Ruby said, waving her hand around. "That's just me being friendly. We're very friendly in Storybrooke, aren't we Emma?"

"Uh. OK. Sure." Emma didn't want to be pulled into this at all.

"And Emma's been very friendly and bought you coffee so don't go spoiling it now!" Ruby continued, pointing a beautifully manicured finger at Killian. That just made Emma wince internally.

"Oh, no. That's for David…" Emma began, only to find that Killian was talking over her.

"Sadly, I'm not the lucky recipient of Emma's benevolence, Ruby," he said. Emma didn't realise she was holding her breath, waiting for Killian to add the inevitable 'love' after Ruby's name, until he didn't and she exhaled, before scooping up the coffee cups with a view to making a quick exit.

"I…should get these back to the station. See you, Ruby." Emma turned to Killian. "And, uh…see you too. I guess."

Emma didn't wait around to hear what his reply to that was, and especially not to hear if he added love to it. Some things she just didn't need to know.

And if David wondered at all why she dumped his coffee on his desk so forcefully then he never bothered to ask, seemingly far too involved in clicking off whatever website he currently had up on his computer monitor.

And she _definitely_ didn't want to know anything about that, either.

When she got home after work she went through her usual routine; she changed out of her uniform, fed Tinkerbell, pondered what to make for dinner, but a heavy cloud of dissatisfaction hung over her, as though there was something else she could have done in the diner that afternoon.

She just didn't know what.

Emma looked at the rum bottle on the counter, the one Killian had brought over. She should return it really, she wasn't much of a drinker and it was unlikely she'd be entertaining anytime soon.

But she knew that would just be an excuse to see Killian. And letting herself fall into that trap, succumb to his charms, well that would be as intoxicating as drinking the remains of the bottle by herself. And the hangover when it was all over would be just as awful.

She was making the right choice.

She absolutely was, and she told Tinkerbell that, but the cat was far more interested in washing behind her ears and turned her back on Emma, before disappearing out the cat door. Tinkerbell was not particularly useful as a confidant, Emma reflected, before she was startled by the sound of urgent knocking at the front door.

Emma suspected who was knocking long before she opened the door, and she prepared a variety of responses along the lines of lying about how busy she was. However all of them died as soon as she saw how distressed he appeared.

And before she could ask what was wrong Killian blurted out "Have you seen Mr Smee?"

"Uh…not since this morning…maybe yesterday?" It was getting a little hard for Emma to pick out one visit from another these days, they had started to blend together. But clearly that didn't help Killian. "Why? Isn't he home?"

"No, I…" Killian took a deep breath in, but his eyes were still a little wide and panicked. "I lost him."

"Lost him? How?" Emma couldn't imagine Mr Smee just wandering off. Not when it was so close to dinner time, anyway.

Killian's words tumbled out in a rush. "I was…he had to go back to the vet's. And he's not fond of the carrier, but he's fine in the truck. Doesn't get in the way. But I stopped for petrol…" He paused and waved a hand impatiently as though he was trying to speak a different language and couldn't find the word. Emma was tempted to tell him she got the gist of it, but was a little worried that interrupting him would just throw him right off, so she waited until he got it figured out.

"You know, gas?" he said, and Emma nodded. "But the passenger window must have been down and when I got back, he wasn't there."

"So…he just left?"

"Well. I think so. He's not in the truck and…I just need to find him." Killian stood, hands on hips and looked out towards the street, as though Mr Smee might suddenly walk down it. But there was no sign of the cat and he ducked his head in defeat before turning back to Emma. "I was only at the station around the corner, and I hoped…I hoped he'd just made his way back here."

"No." Emma wished she had better news, or that she could say something, anything, that might comfort Killian. But she was a little lost at what to do. Mostly, when confronted with anyone even mildly distressed she tended to remain as hands off as possible. It just wasn't her strong suit.

Even on the job it was usually David who was more capable at calming down hyperventilating bystanders. Emma tended to shine in the moments that caused for firm direction and a sharp reminder of what society deemed appropriate.

But this was somehow different. This was Killian, and it was Mr Smee who was missing, and she wished that she had something more to offer.

"Do you, uh, want me to come and help you look for him?" she ventured.

Killian looked a little startled for a moment, as though he'd forgotten she was there, which only served to remind Emma of just how useless she was. "Oh. No. I mean…I think it's better if you're here, in case he does show up."

"Oh. Right. Yes, of course."

Killian stood still for a moment, looking like he might add something else, but then he nodded and walked off. And then something occurred to Emma. "Wait!"

"What, love?"

"I don't…um. Have your number." Emma was a little embarrassed to admit it because, while she might not be the go-to person for doling out comforting remarks, it was her doorstep Killian had turned up on, presumably because he thought she was a friend and somehow…well, they hadn't crossed this bridge before now.

Killian pulled his own phone out of his pocket and Emma gave him her number which he diligently entered in order to send her a text. "You know," he commented, after he had finished. "If Mr Smee has engineered this just so I can get your number then I might have to buy him a bucket of frozen yoghurt. I'll still be bloody annoyed with him for disappearing on me, but I think it would deserve some recompense." He looked up from the screen of his phone and Emma was struck, not for the first time, by just how handsome Killian was.

"Well, you could have asked me," she blurted out. "But, you know, it was probably easier to just turn up here than call."

"Like Mr Smee."

"Exactly."

There was another short pause and Killian put his phone back in his pocket. "If only he bloody would. Well, alright love. Let me know if he shows, yeah?"

Emma nodded. "Good luck. With the search."

She watched Killian as he drove off and then turned back in her own door to find Tinkerbell standing in the hallway. "I know we're supposed to wait here, but we could have just a small look around, couldn't we?"

Tinkerbell didn't seem to have an opinion, but Emma was very keen on not just sitting around and waiting; it had never really been her style. She grabbed her phone, which now showed that she'd received a text message that was just a serious of smiley faces, and a flashlight and went back out the front door.

With Tinkerbell as backup Emma scoured the property around the rental cottage, but there was no sign of Mr Smee. She checked her own back yard, at which time Tinkerbell gave up on helping and fell asleep on the back step.

With no Mr Smee on the horizon and no message from Killian yet, Emma walked a little way down the street and knocked on a couple of doors. The first place was empty and she scanned the yard, but there was no familiar orange shape. At the next house someone was home but, when she asked to check around the garage, the guy spent far longer singing the praises of his Miada than Emma was really comfortable with. She got that he was probably lonely, but even so, it was just a _car_.

And she had a cat to find.

She was heading back home when she finally received a text message from Killian, although it wasn't good news. He'd apparently asked a few people and Leroy had volunteered that he'd seen a cat down near the toll bridge. Emma seriously doubted it was Mr Smee; the bridge was a fair way out of town and Mr Smee was old and not that fast. But she didn't want to turn Killian away from any possible leads unless she had something more concrete to offer in its place.

And when she got home, she found that she did, although for a while she was so busy staring at her phone and willing Killian to send her another message she almost stepped on Mr Smee and it was only the yowl he let out that stopped her foot actually connecting.

"Where have you been?" she asked him, but all she got was another yowl in response, this one tinged with an air of the-service-in-this-establishment-has-really-gone-downhill-where- _were_ -you, but Emma had never been so glad to have a cat yell at her in her life.

She pulled out the spare cat bowl she just happened to have now, as it had been a free gift with the extra-large sized bag of cat food she'd had to buy the week before, and put most of a can of tuna into it before presenting it to Mr Smee. The cat didn't seem particularly grateful, but he did immediately bury his face in the food and start eating.

Tinkerbell pushed through the cat door, the sound of her bell only just heard over the noises of Mr Smee's eating and she gave him a contemptuous look, before giving Emma an annoyed look.

Emma gave her the rest of the tuna.

And then she snapped a photo of Mr Smee on her phone and sent it to Killian along with a message that read _Mr Smee has been sighted safe and sound. You can come home now._

It was only after the message was gone and she was watching Mr Smee lick the now-empty bowl enthusiastically that she realised that the whole 'home' part of the message was a little silly. Because this wasn't Mr Smee's home and it certainly wasn't Killian's.

But he'd know what she meant.

She hoped.

Emma's stomach growled, alerting her to the fact that she'd somehow missed dinner and she made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ate most of it. Mr Smee tried some, found peanut butter a little sticky, but valiantly chewed on, unwilling to spit good food out.

Killian did not reply to her text.

And then, with nothing else to do and not prepared to give up on the evening just yet, Emma tried watching TV, but mostly ended up watching Mr Smee as he fussed with the blanket and tried to find a comfortable position to sleep in. He scratched a few times and kept licking his leg and Emma wondered if he'd picked up some fleas on his expedition home and when he'd last been treated for them. She thought she should ask Killian, but he still hadn't replied and there was no sign of his truck either. Mr Smee could normally recognise the sound and it would make him lumber off in search of more food, but the street remained empty and silent.

It was getting a little weird. Although, Emma reasoned, perhaps Killian had seen her text message and, glad of Mr Smee's return, had gone on to join his friends at the Rabbit Hole.

That was plausible, she supposed. Mr Smee didn't really have an opinion when she voiced the theory to him. But somehow it didn't gel with just how worried Killian had been earlier. Surely he'd reply?

Maybe the text had been lost somehow, gone to whatever cloud in the sky swallowed missing messages. Emma sent another one which read _Hey, did you get my last text?_ She hoped that came off as a simple inquiry and not as an accusation of some misdeed.

But there was no reply to that either.

Something wasn't right.

Emma picked up her phone, and grabbed her keys from the table in the kitchen, before shrugging on a jacket. "You guys, just behave while I'm gone OK?" she said to the feline occupants of the living room, but they both ignored her, in the same way they'd been ignoring the growing evidence that something was up with Killian.

She drove down the street and around the corner, passing the now-darkened gas station that had been the scene of Mr Smee's daring escape earlier in the evening. Continuing on she reached the main street of Storybrooke and drove slowly down, past the closed storefronts and the empty sidewalks.

There was no sign of Killian.

The Rabbit Hole was at the end of the street and it was the one place in town where there was a significant amount of activity, but, although she drove right through the parking lot she could see no sign of Killian's truck.

Growing increasingly worried, Emma kept driving. She just couldn't reconcile the very-worried-about-his-cat Killian she'd seen earlier with a Killian who would just assume all was now well and leave to do God knows what.

There wasn't much Emma trusted outright in this world, but she was pretty damn sure of her own gut instinct.

Near the toll bridge, on the road that no one really used these days if they were just passing through, Emma spied a very familiar truck pulled over at the side of the road.

She parked her own car behind it and got out, using the small flashlight she kept in the glove box, she looked in the window of the truck. It was empty, although she could clearly see Killian's cellphone placed carefully in the centre of the passenger seat.

Emma's heart sank, and her stomach lurched unpleasantly. She cast the beam of the flashlight around and wished she'd thought to bring the larger one from home. But she had hardly expected to have to tramp around in the woods in the dark looking for where Killian might have disappeared to.

As it turned out, she didn't have to go far, but what she found was hardly a relief. Not far from the edge of the road, and a little way from the truck lay Killian's crumpled and excruciatingly still form.

Emma ran over and knelt down beside him forcing herself to stay calm. From what she could make out there was blood on his face and she automatically put a hand on his chest to see if he was breathing or had a heartbeat or…well, the alternative wasn't worth considering.

And her ministrations had an effect. "Ow," Killian muttered, and Emma almost jumped.

"Sorry. I was just…checking. Where does it hurt?"

"Um…everywhere. It hurts to breathe." Now that she was listening properly and not consumed with the voice in her own head she could hear him breathing shallowly.

"OK." Emma shone the flashlight on Killian's face at the same time as his eyes fluttered open, and he squinted and closed them again.

"Sorry," she repeated.

"S'alrig', love."

"What happened?"

After a moment, during which Killian seemed to be gathering himself to speak, he muttered "Car," and Emma figured that would have to suffice for now. She didn't want him moving or straining himself any more than he really had to, and, mostly, she wanted someone else to come and take charge because this was all a little scary. It wasn't like helping someone when she was working, this was personal.

She continued checking Killian as best she could, and then, when she was satisfied that there were no injuries that were about to cause him to bleed to death in front of her, she stood up and moved a few steps away before calling the station and getting them to send an ambulance. Ashley, who sometimes manned the phones at night while her husband was home with the kids, seemed a little too interested in the details of how Emma had found the man who happened to be her neighbour lying on the side of the road, and she found herself snapping at the poor woman on the other end.

Was it too much to ask that they just send the freaking ambulance?

Satisfied that Ashley had the message, Emma put her phone back in her pocket and went back to Killian. "They're sending someone. How're you doing?"

There was a pause, during which time Emma wondered if he'd actually lost consciousness, and then he croaked out "Emma?"

"Yep?" His fingers brushed hers and she instinctively closed her hand around his.

"Good. I thought…I imagined you were here again."

"OK." Emma wasn't quite sure what to make of that. "How long have you been here?"

"I…don't know. I just…I saw the cat, and I got out to look, and then…I think the car didn't see me. And when I sort of…came back, I was here." Killian suddenly gasped, and his grip on her hand grew tighter. "Mr Smee! I promised him…oh God, I promised."

"No. No. It's fine. He's at home."

"Home?"

"Yes. Well, my house. With Tinkerbell. They had some tuna and went to sleep. It was all very normal. I sent you a text, but you didn't see it, and I thought that if you had then you definitely would have replied." Emma didn't explicitly state that was the reason she'd started searching for Killian, but she figured he could fill in the blanks.

"So, he's alright?"

"Mr Smee is in a much better state than you are." Emma was a little worried about how long the ambulance was going to take. Perhaps she should have driven him to the hospital herself? But she wasn't sure about moving him, and lifting him into her car or his truck just seemed like an impossible task. What she really needed were the professionals and their stretchers.

Emma didn't think it was a particularly good idea to voice any of her concerns to Killian. So, instead, all she said was "You shouldn't wear so much black."

"I…what?"

"Dark colours. The car that didn't see you. Something brighter would have helped. Also it's a really _stupid_ colour to wear if you're going to own a ginger cat who sheds badly." Emma almost winced at how harsh her words sounded but Killian just chuckled, although it soon turned into a groan.

"Ow. That hurts. Of course it's also a stupid colour to wear if I'm going to consort with blonde women."

"Yeah. I guess." Emma was not at all sure how her scolding Killian had turned into him flirting with her.

They sat in silence for a few moments and then the ambulance rumbled up and Emma got out of the way as Killian was assessed and loaded onto a stretcher. She had thought that once he was safely in the hands of people who could actually do something to help him she'd leave. She'd assumed that at this time the best thing she could do would be to go home and check that Mr Smee was still where she'd left him.

But one of the paramedics called out "Are you coming too?" and Emma followed them onto the ambulance, almost on autopilot. It was probably best not to think too much about these things, not to wonder why they ushered her into a seat right beside Killian, or why he opened his eyes and smiled when he saw her beside him. She especially didn't think about why her hand reached out and brushed a lock of hair out of Killian's eyes once the ambulance was moving, and then just stayed there stroking his face.

None of that really seemed important at the moment.

And when they got to the hospital she was glad that she had had the time with him because he disappeared quickly in what seemed like a swarm of doctors and nurses and, although Emma had been very keen for someone else to come and take responsibility for Killian's welfare, it seemed she wasn't entirely prepared to give it up quite so soon.

One of the nurses, who Emma vaguely recognised from the times she'd visited the hospital in a far more official capacity, came over to her and said "Don't worry, Dr Whale's just going to check him over and then I should be able to come back and tell you what's happening…uh, Emma." She nodded as though satisfied with her decision to drop the whole 'Officer Swan' title, clearly assuming that Emma was off-duty in this instance.

"Oh, uh…I should probably head on home," Emma replied, not really wanting to stand around in the waiting room like one of the relatives she usually had to question after something like this occurred. Being here off-duty, being Emma, suddenly felt weird.

"You'll let his family know to come though?" the nurse asked. Emma looked at the nametag she was wearing, hoping to jog her own memory, but _A. Stefanovich_ didn't really ring any bells. Amelia? Amber? Annabelle?

"Family…um." Emma realised, with a sinking feeling, that she had no idea if Killian had anyone beyond an elderly cat who was hardly going to discuss his condition with the doctor. "You know what? I will stay. Just until we know for sure how he his."

The nurse smiled. "Great. I'll let you know as soon as I can, OK?" She patted Emma on the arm in a consoling fashion which Emma thought was utterly misplaced because they had just established that she wasn't really anything to Killian other than a poor stand-in for family.

"Aurora? You coming?" A man in a white coat who Emma didn't recognise stuck his head around the double doors through which Killian had been wheeled.

"Yep," the nurse replied, and Emma felt some relief at finally learning the nurse's name, but it was useless information as soon as Aurora hurried off and Emma was left alone in the waiting room feeling anything but relief.

There was nothing to do but wait. And wait, and wait. And while she was waiting she watched other people, other families coming and going in various emotional states and it just hit home how detached from the world she really was.

If it was Emma in hospital, who would be waiting out here for her?

Eventually Emma's mind shut down, not quite relaxed enough for sleep, but no longer able to keep up the whirling pool of worry that had fuelled her adrenaline surge up until now. She had resorted to leaning on one hand and staring blankly at the coffee machine that she was too wary to try.

But she was roused from her not-quite-slumber by Aurora touching her arm "Emma?"

"Yep. I'm…here." She sat up straighter and tried to surreptitiously wipe away any drool on her face.

"Come through. You can see him now."

"Oh. OK." Emma stood up and followed Aurora as she led the way out of the waiting room and through the double doors.

"You can talk to Dr Whale first, but he's fine. Really. Just a little banged but nothing broken. So that must be a relief for you."

"Um. Yes." Emma's brain felt slow and sluggish and she wished she could be as upbeat as Aurora sounded, especially given the fact that she had merely been sitting all this time and Aurora had, presumably, been working.

Emma was eventually led to a desk tucked away in one of the corridors and greeted by Dr Whale who smiled at her, which was unnerving because she didn't think she'd ever been the recipient of one of those before.

"Mr Jones'll be fine. There are some cracked ribs and his left knee is pretty swollen, but we couldn't find any fractures. Everything else is just bruising and superficial lacerations. Looks worse than it is."

"That's good."

"Go on through." Dr Whale gestured to a door off the corridor.

"Oh, no. I should let him rest."

"A short visit won't hurt. And I think he's expecting you."

Once again Emma found herself swept up in everyone's assumptions that Killian actually wanted her here, and she allowed herself to be ushered into Killian's room. Seeing him again, lying there, the cuts on his face far more obvious than they had been in the dark at the side of the road earlier, was both a relief and a jolt to her heart.

It made Emma anxious and utterly unsure of her own reactions. She liked things cut and dried, she liked to know where she stood but this weird mixture of emotions was new to her and she really didn't know how to handle it.

But then Killian caught sight of her and he smiled broadly, even though it looked a little painful, and Emma was left with a whole other thing to worry about. She didn't know how to be that person to someone, and she was afraid she'd just screw it up like she screwed everything up. Like the way she'd screwed up with Graham and Walsh and August and even Neal, screwed up to the point where they just left her because it was obvious that she was never going to be the person they needed.

"Hey," she said, when not talking was starting to become an issue. "You're looking…" Emma wasn't sure how to finish that.

"Not dead? Yes, well. It'd take more than that to finish me off, love."

"Uh-huh. Well, I don't think you should try to prove that theory anytime soon."

"You won't come and rescue me again?"

"Not from yourself if you do anything ridiculous, no. Just…try not to get hit by anything larger than you are next time, OK?"

Killian chuckled, and then winced and Emma sat down in the chair next to the bed, which seemed to please Killian, if his smile was anything to go by. Emma found herself so distracted by his smile that she didn't notice exactly how she ended up holding his hand, but he seemed to like that as well and, mostly, she was pleased that, in the five minutes she'd been in the room, she hadn't screwed it up.

And also just a little bit happy that he was mostly OK.

Her happiness bubbled over into her telling Killian that he didn't have to worry because she'd get his truck back home and check on his place and make sure Mr Smee didn't starve and took his medicine when he was supposed to. If she'd stepped back and thought about it, she might have realised that she was getting herself awfully entangled in the life of someone she'd been trying to keep at arm's length, but it had been a long night and Killian really didn't have anyone else.

And maybe, just maybe, she liked the idea that he wanted her to help him out.

Eventually Dr Whale appeared in the room. "I hate to break this up, but you need your rest."

"I've done nothing but lie here, and I can't see that changing anytime soon," Killian grumbled.

"I meant Emma," Dr Whale replied.

"Ah, well. Maybe it's time she should leave, before she decides I should be put out of my misery. She has form on that front, you know. Thought I should have my cat put down."

"I think she's far more likely to get you fixed. In my experience women are less than forgiving of men who like to wander off and get themselves into trouble."

Both men laughed, but Emma felt that she needed to correct the assumption that Dr Whale was making. "Yeah, that's not something I'm planning, _at all_."

She realised she'd merely played along with the joke when the only response she got from Killian and Dr Whale was more laughter.

"I think, perhaps, I should go," Emma added, standing up.

"But you'll be back later on, love?" Killian asked, his fingers reaching to hold onto hers.

"Oh, um. Sure. I'll call back in…later. You, uh. Feel better, OK?" She patted him on the shoulder and walked out of the room quickly, not making eye contact with Dr Whale as she passed him.

She marched down the corridor, through the double doors and made it all the way to the main lobby of the hospital before she sat down heavily in one of the hard plastic chairs and let the tears that she'd held back earlier in the night finally fall.

And that was where Emma was, head in hands and tears running down her face, when she heard Mary Margaret say "Emma?" Looking up she realised it wasn't just Mary Margaret, but David as well.

"Are you OK?" Mary Margaret asked.

"Yeah." Emma wiped her face with a hand. "Long night. I need to, um…get home. And then to work…I guess." She hadn't really thought through how she was going to manage any of that; her car was still parked at the side of the road, behind Killian's truck.

"But you weren't working last night." David stated, at the same time as Mary Margaret asked "But what happened? Why are you here?"

"Oh. I…my neighbour. You know, the guy with the annoying cat? He got hit by a car and I brought him in." That seemed to sum up the situation as far as Emma could tell, but Mary Margaret frowned and then sat down in the chair beside her and didn't seem satisfied at all.

"Were you in the accident? Are you hurt?" Mary Margaret's eyes flicked over Emma's face.

"Nope. No. I just found him and got the ambulance. It wasn't a big deal, really." Emma waved a hand in front of her face.

Mary Margaret's expression didn't change, however. She still looked worried. Emma decided to change the subject. "So, why are you guys here so early in the morning?"

Mary Margaret looked up at David and there was a smile on her face now. In fact she was positively glowing. And then she reached into her purse and pulled out some kind of a photograph before handing it Emma who looked at the grey, blurred image for a few moments before figuring out what it was. "Oh. Congratulations."

"Thanks," Mary Margaret replied, still smiling broadly. "It actually feels pretty good to finally be able to tell people now we've had the scan and know everything's OK."

"Yeah," David echoed, wearing an identical smile.

"I just…a baby. That's huge." Emma's tired brain was struggling to think of what to say. On top of everything that had happened during the night this was just a little overwhelming. And it wasn't that she wasn't genuinely happy for them, of course she was. And they'd make great parents. But Emma felt so out of step with her friends that it wasn't even funny and it set off a prickly, uncomfortable feeling under her skin.

"It's gonna be…quite something," David said, rocking on his feet and looking as pleased as punch, almost like he'd done it all himself.

"Look, I should probably get home," Emma handed the photo back to Mary Margaret, who stroked it reverently, before placing it back in her purse.

Mary Margaret's expression switched from happy back to concern as soon as she focussed on Emma again. "Emma, I don't think you should be going to work straightaway. The shadows under your eyes are enormous."

"OK. Great, thanks."

"Emma, I'm being serious." And Mary Margaret was using her most serious voice, the one she, no doubt, used on the most troublesome third graders.

"I know, and I appreciate it, but…" Emma sighed. "I just…"

"Yeah. No buts. David, you go and bring the car around to the front, Emma and I will meet you out there." David walked off and Emma realised there wasn't much choice but to go along with Mary Margaret's plan. At least it solved one problem.

"If you could take me to my car, then that'd be great."

"Of course, but you need to go straight home. David can manage at work for the morning, at least." Mary Margaret frowned at Emma's sceptical look. "What? It's Storybrooke. I'm sure if anyone wants to commit a truly heinous crime we can ask them to hold off until you've had some rest."

"Maybe if you ask them. I think all the truly heinous criminals will take more notice of you than they will of David."

"Of course they will," Mary Margaret said, standing up. "I probably taught them all to read."

Emma followed Mary Margaret as she started walking through the lobby, past the doctors and nurses and the people just milling around. "So you just happened to find him?" Mary Margaret asked, in a voice that was a little too casual.

"Oh. Well I knew he was out looking for his cat, and he didn't reply to my text…I found Mr Smee. He just showed up…that's the cat. And then I just…I figured something was wrong. So I went to look and there he was."

"So you saved him?"

"What? No. It wasn't anything as dramatic as that…I just called so they'd send an ambulance. Dr Whale did the rest."

"Uh-huh." Mary Margaret didn't sound all that convinced.

"It's what anyone would have done. _You_ would have done it." Emma didn't really want to defend her actions but she felt like Mary Margaret was giving them more weight than was actually deserved. She hadn't done anything than any normal person would have done.

"Yes, but maybe only if I'd noticed someone as I was driving past. But you said you went out looking for him?"

"It's not like that," Emma said, hurriedly.

"Like…what? That you care about him?"

Emma sighed. "That I think it could go anywhere even if I did. He's just here while he has a job at the boatyard and when that's finished, he'll be gone. Hardly worth getting all excited over." She gave Mary Margaret a sideways glance. "And please, after the night I've had I don't need to be reminded that it's important to keep thinking I'll get a happy ending. I understand I'm supposed to hope for the best but just…sometimes it's not gonna work out like that."

They walked through the big revolving door at the front of the hospital and then stopped outside. "I get that," Mary Margaret replied. "I mean. I really do." She looked away from Emma for a moment and then seemed to make a decision about something. "We tried, for a long time. For this baby. It was a _really_ long time."

"I…didn't know."

"Well, of course you didn't. You have your own life, you don't need to get all our problems dumped on you. But I felt it, too. That feeling that no matter how much you want something it's just not in the cards for you. And I started to think it was never going to happen. But then David said that sometimes life isn't just about the ending, it's about the moments that make up the whole thing. And that if you can make the most of those moments as you live them, then sometimes life just surprises you."

"That seems…very philosophical for David."

"Well, I think he got it from his mother. It sounds more like something Ruth would say. But I think you get what I'm saying."

"That I should make the most of the times I have to rescue my neighbour from the side of the road?" Emma gave a rather flippant shrug, hoping she was doing a good job of pretending that none of it really mattered to her.

"That you shouldn't let the fact that this maybe doesn't look like the path to your happy ending stop you enjoying the journey."

Emma decided she needed to be a little more serious. "I just don't think…I mean, I wouldn't want…" She paused, and took a deep breath. "I couldn't take being let down. When he does leave. I don't want to go through all of that." _Again_ , she added in her own head.

"Nothing is guaranteed in this life, Emma. _Nothing_ ," Mary Margaret said vehemently, and Emma was about to reply that it was all well and good to think that when you'd just found out that your dearest wish was coming true, but David drove around the building and she settled for getting in the backseat of their car instead.

It was a little like going on a daytrip with your parents, Emma thought, as they made their way out to where her car and Killian's truck were parked. Mostly she just kept quiet, hoping that Mary Margaret wasn't going to re-start their earlier conversation. And she didn't; David's presence meant they retreated into a cosy bubble of self-congratulation. Emma could hardly blame them for it, but it was hard not to feel a little excluded all the same.

When they reached the other vehicles there were some complicated negotiations to work out who drove what. In the end Emma drove her own car, David took Killian's truck after she handed him the keys that had been stashed in the nightstand in Killian's room, and Mary Margaret drove her own car. And then, in an almost stately procession, they drove on to Emma's house.

"Well, thanks for that," Emma said, as David handed back the keys to Killian's truck.

"No problem. I hope your, uh…friend, feels better soon," David replied. "You know, you did a really good thing, Emma."

"Oh, yeah. I guess."

"He's a lucky guy."

"He is?" Emma wasn't sure that's how she'd put it.

"To have a friend like you."

"Right. Yeah. Well, I'd maybe even go and scrape your ass off the side of the road as well."

"I'll remember that. Oh, and I told the station you wouldn't be in until later on."

"You didn't have to do that. I'm fine, really. I just need a shower and some coffee and I'll be straight there."

"No, no. You take as long as you need." David patted Emma on the shoulder and she fought the urge to shrug it off. He meant well, but she was starting to feel uncomfortable about the mantle he was trying to place on her shoulders.

She just wanted to get back to normal.

It was a relief to get inside her cottage and almost trip over the two cats waiting to inform her that breakfast had been horribly delayed and they were suffering because of it.

At least with Tinkerbell and Mr Smee she could avoid awkward conversations about Killian, and even more awkward moments of being praised for her actions. It wasn't anything special, it was just a friend helping out another friend.

And as long as she kept telling herself that, she might almost believe it.

Despite her earlier protests that she only needed a shower and coffee, Emma found the call of her bed far too tempting and she was asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, waking a few hours later to find Tinkerbell staring at her from the other pillow and Mr Smee draped over her leg.

As much as she'd wanted to escape from Mary Margaret and David, it was nice not to be completely alone. "Killian will be back soon and then you can go home again," Emma said, extricating herself from Mr Smee's rather warm embrace. He didn't seem to be particularly worried about Killian's absence and Emma wondered, not for the first time, just how much notice Mr Smee actually took of the world around him.

Showered, dressed and clutching a cup of coffee she arrived at the station only to find there'd been nothing that David couldn't handle and really, unless someone in Storybrooke suddenly decided to go on a crime rampage in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon, she could have stayed at home and reassured Mr Smee some more.

But she was there now, so she'd see it through, even though most of their afternoon consisted of various people who'd heard the news about the pregnancy from Leroy coming and congratulating David. "I don't even remember telling Leroy," David said, after the third person had just told him that his life was about to change forever.

"I don't think that's really an issue," Emma replied, wondering if there was any more coffee left. "He just kind of picks up what's going on from the atmosphere, or something." She started to walk to the coffeemaker and then stopped in her tracks. "So, why isn't he telling everyone about Killian?"

David crossed his arms and nodded. "Good point."

"Yes. Really good point." Emma was starting to get suspicious about what was going on, especially as David refused to meet her eyes.

"Um…you know, now that I think of it…I think perhaps Mary Margaret might have mentioned the pregnancy to Leroy. When she was in Granny's this morning." He shrugged.

"Thank you." Emma was incredibly touched. Of all the things they could have done for her, realising that she didn't need the whole town gossiping about her supposed rescue of Killian was probably the best one.

"Well, you can owe us some babysitting when the time comes."

"Uh. No. I'd be hopeless with a baby."

"You said that about cats, too. Now look at you." David smiled broadly, as though nothing was going to take away his happy vibe, and Emma ignored him. He'd done an incredibly nice thing for her, but even so, if he dumped a baby on her doorstep and expected her to look after it, he had another thing coming.

Emma stayed a little later at work, trying to make up for the hours she'd missed that morning, but there was only so much filing she could do, and only so long she could sit in a nearly-empty station and pretend that she wasn't a little anxious to find out how Killian was doing.

No one gave her a second glance as she walked through the hospital, the uniform acting like an invisibility cloak in places like this; there were almost always uniformed personnel of some description milling around.

But when she walked into Killian's room it was a different story altogether; he could definitely see her, and she found that she didn't really mind being the focus of his attention.

"So, what's life like outside the hospital? Have I missed anything?" Killian asked, as Emma took a seat beside his bed.

"Not so much. No major dramas. Clock tower's still standing."

"That's good to know, love. Wouldn't be Storybrooke without the clock tower."

"So I believe. Hey, here's something…uh, you know David? His wife Mary Margaret is pregnant. I ran into them after I left you this morning. They'd been for some kind of scan and got the all-clear, at least, that's what they told me."

"Well, that's good news for them." Killian did a weird scan of her face as he said that, as though he was checking her reaction.

"Yeah, it really is. I'm happy for them. They deserve to get the family they want."

Killian looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. "And the fact that I am being entrusted with this news, it is another case of me taking the secret with me when I leave?"

"What? Oh. No. Not in this case. Leroy knows, so everybody knows. You can blab it all you want, but I think it'll be yesterday's news pretty soon. Which is good, because it means we're not. News, that is. At all."

" _We_ aren't news?" Killian seemed a little perplexed by that.

"Yeah, you know. The whole accident and me finding you thing. It's, uh…well you don't want everyone knowing your business, do you?"

"Love, I don't care who knows what you did for me. You deserve all the praise in the world."

"Um. OK." That just made Emma uncomfortable once again.

"I meant it. I am indebted to you Emma Swan."

"Well, maybe I'll call in that debt sometime."

"Maybe you should." Killian raised his eyebrow with what looked like some effort, given the current state of his rather battered face, and Emma wondered how, yet again, she'd been manoeuvred into this kind of challenge.

Killian seemed to have a knack for this. Or maybe she was an easy target. Either way, the results were the same.

Trying to take some control back, Emma said "You don't owe me anything. It was the right thing to do."

Killian sighed. "You're going to bloody disagree with me again, but you really are the kindest person I know."

"Right. Yeah." Emma rolled her eyes because he could say that all he wanted but he didn't live in her head and she was far from the saint he seemed to think she was.

"You know what?" Killian shifted in the bed, trying to sit up a bit straighter. "Maybe I'll tell you a secret."

"OK." Emma worried about what on earth it could be. She hoped it wasn't anything involving Leroy.

"I was hoping it would be you." Killian looked pretty pleased with himself, but Emma was completely lost.

"What?"

"When you brought Mr Smee back. You see, I'd seen you before, at the docks. You were dealing with those guys and the argument over who'd caught what when they'd been out fishing, and there'd been some kind of fist fight over the cooler when they got back to shore. It might have even been a fish fight."

"Yes! I remember. That guy they call Happy hit the other one in the face with a mackerel. Wait? You saw that?"

"I did indeed, love. And I watched while that less-than-happy guy and his mate chewed your ear off for a good twenty minutes when you came to sort it out. I think that David wanted to just push the pair of them into the sea, but you were so very patient and, at the end of it, I think they tried to make you take the fish."

"Yeah. I got out of that by saying it would look like they were bribing me. Actually that was the only part that interested David, I think he envisioned free fish for dinner." Emma remembered that David had actually been a little put out that she'd been offered the fish and not him, and he'd been a pain in the ass for the rest of the afternoon.

"But how did you know where I lived?" Emma asked, feeling more than a little suspicious.

"Oh, I had no idea. Not until I heard a voice across the road telling Mr Smee to bugger off home."

"I don't think I used that phrase."

"No, but the intent was fairly clear. And I thought I recognised the voice. At least, I hoped it was attached to the woman I'd seen at the docks."

"So you just waited until Mr Smee annoyed me so much I brought him home?"

Killian screwed up one side of his face, and tilted his head to the side. "It wasn't exactly a well thought out plan as such. I just hoped that our paths might cross. I certainly didn't know he was raiding your pantry every night."

"OK." Emma took a moment to process everything he'd said. "So why tell me now? I mean, Mr Smee's not going to blab your secrets."

"Because," Killian said, reaching out a hand and laying it over the one Emma had resting on the edge of his bed. "I had quite the night last night. And I just wanted you to know."

"That you considered stalking me?"

"That I appreciate you, and I have since I first saw you on the docks."

Emma didn't trust herself to respond to that. Denial would no doubt sound petty and most likely offend the man who was trying to be nice, and simply fleeing from the room, as attractive an option as that was, wouldn't be any better.

"I don't expect anything, Emma," Killian said gently, and she nodded, not quite managing to make eye contact. "But I've learned that you don't always get a second chance in life, and it would be remiss of me not to say something."

"That you appreciate me?"

"Appreciate you, fancy you…pick whatever term you like, love."

"That's the uniform. Everyone likes a girl in uniform." Emma pulled, what she hoped, was a rueful expression, and Killian laughed.

"Is that how they get you to wear it?"

"Something like that." Emma gave him the best smile she could under the circumstances and then flicked her eyes down to look at where his hand was still covering hers. She wished she had something real she could add to the conversation, a secret that she felt like sharing. But her secrets were locked away and it would take more than a few kind words from a man in a hospital bed to make her bring them out for his perusal.

It was hardly worth the pain it would cause; not when he wasn't going to stick around. Better to let him carry on appreciating her, or whatever it was he wanted to do, for the time he was here. Better to listen to Mary Margaret's advice and take this moment for what it was, just a moment in time when she had someone who thought she was special.

"It looks better on you than on your mate Dave," Killian said, breaking into Emma's thoughts.

"What does?"

"The uniform. He was in here this morning, trying to get some details of the car that hit me. But I can't remember a bloody thing about what happened. Other than you turning up, that was pretty memorable."

"Well, maybe you'll think of something."

"Maybe. David said the same thing. And, you know, it kind of makes sense now that he was looking a bit…pleased with himself when he was here."

"Yeah…he was. All day. I don't know quite why he's taking all the credit, but I wasn't going to tell him he couldn't."

Killian laughed and she wanted to ask if David had said anything else, if he'd warned Killian off or told him that he was lucky to have Emma as a…well, as a whatever she was to Killian. But she didn't think it was a good idea to bring any of that up right then. None of it would be pertinent to what she actually was, and that was Killian's friend.

They sat in silence for a while and then Emma decided the best thing she could do to be his friend, was to reassure Killian that she'd look after Mr Smee. She outlined the plan she had for the rest of the evening, including stopping for frozen yoghurt. "Because you promised him, didn't you?" she asked.

There was no reply. Killian had fallen asleep.

Emma stood up and gently moved her hand from under his, trying not to wake him up. She stood and looked at him for a moment or two, before bending over so her mouth was close to his ear.

"And this is my secret," she whispered, watching his face for signs that he wasn't asleep. There was no movement, so she continued on. "I wish that you weren't leaving. I wanted…I want, just once, I want someone not to give me up. Plus, maybe I'd like to kiss you. Properly."

Emma held her breath and waited, but Killian didn't stir. Feeling a little bolder now, she leant down and touched her lips to his, as gently as she could. She half-hoped that he might open his eyes at her touch, that she would be caught out and forced to show her hand. But Killian remained steadfastly asleep, the beginnings of a snore sounding in his throat.

"Sleep well, Killian." Emma stood up and, as quietly as possible, left the room and shut the door behind her.

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

Killian was discharged from the hospital after two more days. Emma had visited him each night and he'd been growing increasingly restless. She suspected that Dr Whale would be glad to be rid of him, to be honest, although officially he was only allowed out because Emma was supposed to be keeping an eye on him, while he stayed in her spare room.

She'd grown quite fond of him; nearly as fond as she was of Mr Smee. And Mr Smee had all but moved in, so it only made sense that she let his owner hang around as well. At least, it kind of made sense to Emma.

She wasn't entirely certain it would make the same sense to other people, like David. So she hadn't exactly broadcast the news she was moving Killian into her incredibly small spare bedroom. Although, to be honest, David was a little bit wrapped in Mary Margaret's pregnancy at the moment. The whole buying a new house plan made sense to Emma now, and she wondered how she hadn't seen the signs sooner. Maybe she'd been just as wrapped up in her own life as they had been in theirs?

And it gave her a little thrill to think that, for once, she had a few things worth being wrapped in. Even if they were only trying to get Mr Smee's medication down his throat, and whether the bedding on the spare bed was actually in a fit state to be used by a human guest.

She'd told Killian she'd pick him up after work, but made one stop first to fulfil a promise to Mr Smee. _Any Given Sundae_ was empty when she walked in, the bell over the door sending Ingrid Gundersen from the back of the store to greet Emma. "Oh, hey Emma! You after some Rocky Road?"

"Um. No. I'm here to pick something up for a…friend…" Emma wasn't sure she could explain what she was doing there and still manage to sound like a rational human being. She hoped that Ingrid wasn't going to question why she was suddenly ordering something completely different.

"Ah, Mr Smee's frozen yoghurt!" Ingrid said, holding up a finger. "Because it's today, isn't it?"

"What's today?" Emma was increasingly worried that Ingrid was going to inform her that today was Mr Smee's birthday.

"Killian's getting out…you're picking him up, yes?"

"Um. Yes. How did you know?"

"Oh. The usual. Anna, you know my youngest niece? She went to school with Aurora Stefanovich…I think she's been looking after Killian in the hospital. So Elsa told me…when I popped into the bakery this morning on my way to open here."

"Right. Yes. OK." Emma wasn't quite sure how to feel about her business, or maybe Killian's business, being passed through so many of Ingrid's family members.

"He's doing well then?" Ingrid asked.

"As well as can be expected."

Ingrid nodded, and started filling a small container with vanilla frozen yoghurt. "Well, tell him all the best from me. Mr Smee is one of most popular customers."

"Popular?"

"Uh-huh. Killian gave me a photo of Mr Smee eating out of one of our containers and I put it up on the store's Facebook page. It got 15 likes, but I think a lot of those were from my family. Since my sister Gerda discovered the internet things haven't been the same. It's hard to get her away from it. I know Elsa was talking about getting her an iPhone for her birthday, but I think that might just make it worse."

"Oh…OK." Emma was never sure how to react when people just dropped details like that into the conversation. Was she supposed to commiserate with Ingrid or just what exactly?

"Of course," Ingrid continued, not really noticing Emma's reticence. "She's nowhere near as bad as my other sister Helga. For her, it's all internet shopping. I'm getting a little worried about how much she's buying. Of course we only know because Kristoff…Anna's fiancé…is the UPS driver, and he's been keeping Anna updated. I mean, I know Helga likes to look good, but it can't be prudent to be spending that much money."

Ingrid shrugged and went back spooning frozen yoghurt. Emma stayed silent but felt the same mixture of horror and fascination she always did when confronted with a situation like this. She couldn't imagine what it would be like to be part of a big family, always knowing that the details of her life were passed around from mother to aunt to sister.

What made it worse, somehow, because it certainly made her feel more complicit in the whole thing, was that she knew the details Ingrid had left out. How it was Gerda's cancer treatment that left her house-bound and dependent not only on her daughters, but the internet as well. And she'd also been party to the fruitless attempts to persuade Helga to file charges against her ex-boyfriend, now known only as Weasel-Face, when he'd absconded with her savings about six month's back.

And while Emma would hate more than anything to have someone just airing her private business in a store, she worried that if something like that happened to her - if she was sick, or even just out of pocket - then who would rally to her aid?

"Still, it's a terribly bad business about Killian," Ingrid said, suddenly, and Emma was glad for the change in subject. "Hard to believe that someone would just drive straight on after that. Although people should hardly surprise you, I guess? And there's always been something a little strange about those woods. I remember when I was a girl…really young…someone left a baby out there. Just left it, and walked away like it was nothing."

Ingrid's eyes were wide as she handed the container to Emma who was less than pleased with the turn the conversation had taken. "Um…yeah. I did hear something about that…so how much do I owe you?"

"Oh, it's on the house." Ingrid smiled broadly. "I can't tempt you with some Rocky Road for yourself while you're here?"

"Nope. You know what? I'm good. Just, uh…thanks, for this. Killian'll appreciate it. And Mr Smee."

"Anytime. You just look after him, OK?"

Emma waved over her shoulder and didn't bother asking which 'him' Ingrid had meant. Probably Mr Smee. He was the customer featured on Facebook, after all. And, quite frankly, Emma just wanted to get out of there before Ingrid attempted any further conversation.

It was probably a good thing that Emma did hustle to the hospital, as Killian was looking anxious to leave when she got there, perched on the bed with a bag containing the belongings Emma had brought from his house beside him.

"Ah, there you are, love," he said, standing with a wince that he quickly tried to hide. "Let's get going, shall we?"

"Hold your horses, I just need to get instructions from Dr Whale." Emma looked back over her shoulder wondering where the doctor was.

"I'm fairly sure we could dispense with the formalities and just leave?" Killian looked hopeful and Emma wondered what the rush was, surely another five minutes wasn't going to kill him?

"Hang on…just wait here." Emma pointed a warning finger at Killian, who, rather reluctantly, lowered himself back onto the bed, before leaving to track down Dr Whale. She found him at what she assumed was the nurses station, surrounded by a handful of women all listening to him recount the plot of a TV show that had been on the night before.

Luckily he was disposed to stop his conversation long enough to give Emma the prescription for Killian's pain meds and a quick run-down on how he should keep applying cold packs to his ribs.

"OK," Emma said, when Dr Whale seemed to have finished his list. "I think I should be able to handle that…I mean, he can't be more trouble than his cat, can he? And Mr Smee…the cat…he's got thyroid problems, so, you know. I've had to take special care of him."

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm not really a vet…but OK. You'll be fine though, I'm sure he'll be in good hands."

"Well, it's only temporary," Emma continued, still hoping to get a bit of commiseration from someone over the trouble she'd had with Mr Smee's illness. "And then, I guess, he'll be gone pretty soon, so I won't have the bother anymore. It's not like I'm keeping him."

"Oh. OK." There was a pause while Dr Whale frowned at her and Emma wondered whether she'd inadvertently insulted him by discussing the welfare of a cat with someone who, presumably, had a medical degree pertaining to people.

But then Dr Whale suddenly widened his eyes in understanding. "The cat!" he said emphatically and Emma wondered what on earth he thought they had been talking about.

And then she realised.

"Well, yes, uh…I mean. I'm not keeping _Killian_ …or anything. It's not like that."

Dr Whale's expression suggested he found that statement even odder than the ones she'd made about Mr Smee and his medical problems. Emma was half-tempted to try to defend herself again but gave up. "I should let you get back to work. Thanks, though. For helping him."

"Sure. You…well, take care of yourself then, Emma. Sounds like you might need to." With that another nurse Emma didn't recognise turned up and handed Dr Whale a chart, throwing an apologetic smile Emma's way. Emma took that as her cue to leave.

She walked back to Killian's room bristling with indignation at Dr Whale's insinuation that just because she wasn't prepared to make Killian stay with her she'd be lonely and regret not throwing herself at the best prospect she'd had in years. But all that faded away when she saw Killian sitting on the bed, fidgeting just as much as before. More to the point, she noticed that he'd pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and the Milah tattoo was clearly visible, and suddenly it all clicked into place.

It was blindingly obvious as to why he didn't want to hang around a hospital any longer than he had to, that Emma was annoyed at herself for not realising earlier. Suddenly it made sense why he'd been constantly asking her what was happening in the world outside the hospital, or why he'd asked Dr Whale repeatedly when he could be discharged. He'd spent enough time in hospitals, and hadn't brought away any happy memories from the experience.

"Hey, so…quick trip to the pharmacy downstairs and then we're out of here, OK?" Emma said, and she watched as Killian stood awkwardly, wanting to help him but not wanting to overstep her boundaries. In the end she settled for shouldering the backpack that was sitting on the bed next to him, and walking very slowly down the corridor towards the elevators as a few of the nurses came over to say goodbye and wish Killian luck. And really, why shouldn't they? It was none of her business if he'd been in here making new friends.

When they made it to the first floor of the hospital it was a mission getting Killian to even stop at the pharmacy, let alone sit patiently on the seats outside while Emma went inside. But when it was done and she had the paper bag containing all the pills she was supposed to dispense to him, all that remained was to actually get Killian home to her cottage.

And Emma realised that perhaps the most difficult part of the day hadn't even begun yet.

"I really don't think we needed to bother with these," Killian said, as Emma handed him the bag from the pharmacy after she climbed into the driver's seat. It was a blatant lie, because he'd gritted his teeth noticeably as he'd lowered himself into the passenger seat of her VW bug, but he clearly wasn't admitting to any pain now.

"Well, as long as you're not as bad at taking your medication as your cat is we'll be fine." Emma started the car and reversed out of her parking space. "If I have hold you between my thighs and push the stuff down your throat I don't think either of us will be enjoying it."

Emma drove slowly towards the parking lot exit. There was silence for a moment, and then Killian gave an odd sort of cough. "I don't know, love. There are aspects of that statement which do sound almost appealing."

Emma sighed loudly and almost managed not to look over at Killian, but she couldn't stop herself from briefly glancing over her shoulder and the raised eyebrow and smirk she viewed told her all she needed to know.

"Yeah, I'm not one of those nurses you can charm into giving you bed baths, or, or…whatever you've been doing in the hospital. This is strictly just a short-term thing so you don't, you know. Fall over and just lie there for several days until Mr Smee eats your face or something. I wouldn't put it past him. He seems like the type to weed out the sick and injured pretty quickly."

"I'm not sure whether to be more offended that you think I've been using my injuries to gain some kind of sexual favours from student nurses, or that you think I'm about to keel over and get eaten by a cat."

"You're not offended on Mr Smee's behalf because I think he might eat you?"

"No, I'm fairly certain you have him pegged correctly." Killian shifted slightly and Emma felt, rather than saw, the resulting wince.

"Well. We have been spending a lot of time together." Emma shrugged, as she turned the car off Main Street and headed towards her cottage.

"And now you're just making me jealous, love. Because while there have been a distinct lack of bed baths in my last few days, I suspect that Mr Smee has been enjoying your hospitality wholeheartedly."

Emma was not, was absolutely _not_ , going to respond to that remark because it took her back to all the things she'd tried to shut down a discussion on mere minutes before. Clearly Killian was not getting the memo and she was beginning to wonder if taking him into her home was a good idea at all.

At least Mr Smee she could pick up and move off the bed when his snoring and his desire to lie right on top of her feet got to be too much. She wasn't certain if she'd be able to do anything of the sort with Killian.

And, more worryingly, she wasn't sure she'd even want to. All that temptation was a dangerous thing at the best of times but to invite it into her home could just be the biggest mistake she'd ever made.

Still, Emma reflected as she pulled into her driveway, she was unlikely to attempt anything physical while Killian was still recovering from his injuries. And, sure enough, she was then faced with the dilemma of whether to help him out of the car and risk wounding his pride, or just standing there while he struggled and huffed and was, clearly, in pain.

In the end she settled for offering him a hand as he carefully stood up from the car. A hand, which, with only a little reluctance, Killian took, giving her a half-smile as he did so.

Inside the cottage Emma suddenly felt a little shy. The reality of having Killian staying with her was far more daunting than the prospect had been. "You, uh…just have a seat in the living room. I'm going to give Mr Smee his frozen yoghurt before it melts any more than it already has," she blurted, dropping Killian's backpack and all but scuttling to the kitchen.

If Mr Smee thought her haste to abandon her new houseguest was a little rude, then he didn't say anything. At least not anything that didn't sound like a loud complaint about how hungry he was, followed by a rusty purr that made him sound like he needed a serious tune-up when his face was finally buried in a bowl of frozen yoghurt.

Still, the purr did the trick at calming Emma. She stroked Mr Smee's back a couple of times, feeling his spine sticking through the rather worn fur and took a deep breath before heading back to the living room.

"Sorry! I just didn't want it to get too drippy." Emma shrugged, and waited to see what happened next. Killian was sitting on the sofa now and turned and gave her a smile, but it was clear his attention was really on something else.

"Is it just me, or has Mr Smee acquired a new blanket in my absence?"

"Ah. Oh. Well, the other one got a bit yucky, and he kept getting his claws stuck in it. Plus, that one was on sale. I think it's meant to be a baby blanket, but I mean who's really going to buy leopard print for a baby? But it won't show up all the fur he sheds…not as much, anyway. And I got Tinkerbell a green one, with her namesake on it, but she's a bit annoyed I put it on her pillow in bed. She doesn't seem to like it."

Emma paused, having realised that, although Killian hadn't made a comment, he was giving her a rather amused look. "You bought Tinkerbell a blanket with Tinkerbell the fairy on it?"

"I just…OK, but don't worry." Emma held up a hand in front of her. "Yours is blue."

"Mine?"

Emma winced internally, realising she'd said too much. "I meant the one on the spare bed is blue. You know, where you're sleeping."

Killian nodded and looked away, and Emma wondered if he thought she was reminding him, again, that this wasn't some kind of desperate attempt on her part to lure him into her bed. Really she just hadn't want to spell out that the bedding on there was new because she'd decided that Killian's stay gave her the perfect excuse to replace the worn-out, hand-me-down, passed-on to her by kindly acquaintances bedding that was all she'd had before when there hadn't been anyone who wanted to come and stay with her.

And if that didn't spell desperate, she didn't know what did.

"So…food," Emma announced, trying to move on to less embarrassing things. "You just stay there, and I'll get you something, OK?"

"No, look. I'm not an invalid. I don't expect you to wait on me hand and foot."

"Oh. Yeah. OK." Emma led the way back down the kitchen where Mr Smee was finishing up his yoghurt.

"I see he's distraught by my absence," Killian commented.

"Well…I'm sure he is on the inside." Emma started opening cupboards and trying hard to think about what to make. She hadn't really planned this very well; sure she'd bought new bedding but groceries would have been a welcome addition.

"Humph. I'm not certain I believe you, love. I think he's quite settled here."

"Look, I'm not trying to steal him from you, if that's what you think," Emma replied, feeling a little on the defensive and not entirely certain why. "I mean, I said this was temporary, and I know it is. Cat and everything, you'll be gone soon. That's OK." Emma gave, what she hoped was, a rather nonchalant shrug.

"Right you are, love. All just…temporary." Killian sighed and Emma went back to trying to find something to eat before he lost patience with her entirely. She wasn't cut out for nursing anyone, or having houseguests or just…anything really.

She almost wished he would decide to go back to his place, but at the same time desperately hoped he wouldn't.

In the end she settled on canned tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, confident that she had enough provisions for that at least. And concentrating on making the food was easier, even with Mr Smee underfoot and Tinkerbell sticking her nose into the kitchen and demanding some form of food-related tribute, and Killian just sitting there at the table, staring at his hands.

Emma wondered what he was thinking, but was far too scared to ask.

When they sat down to eat Mr Smee assumed an invitation had been extended and he spent a while trying to manoeuvre himself onto the table, finally stealing a crust of sandwich that Emma had left unguarded on her plate.

"I have to say, Emma, you're not instilling much confidence in me that you'll be able to protect me from Mr Smee's rapacious appetite if I find myself arsed over on the floor."

"No. Well, you'll just have to leave a pile of cat treats in the corner of the room and hope he goes for that instead."

And just like that it was easy again, no fixating about when Killian was going to leave, or worries that she was fooling herself into thinking they could be friends. No trying to ignore the odd little looks Killian cast her way, or pretend that she didn't like it when he called her 'love'.

Nope. This was far, far easier. Just sitting around, making jokes about being eaten by a cat.

The comfortable feeling stayed through cleaning up dinner, watching a little TV and even through Emma insisting that Killian followed Dr Whale's orders and iced his ribs. "Honestly, love, if you wanted me to take my shirt off, you could have just asked."

"Yeah, yeah. And you'll be sorry if you find yourself seized up in pain in the morning and Mr Smee accidentally suffocates you because you can't get out of bed."

"You think he'd really abandon your bed for mine, love? I can't imagine anyone making that rather poor choice."

"Well, we'll see. Now just put the damn ice on your ribs and take the pain pills."

Emma thought she did very well at remaining impassive when Killian removed his shirt, despite the undeniable fact that Killian removing his clothing did very little to dampen her attraction to him. Sure, the bruising wasn't pretty but it in no way diminished the overall pleasing effect of lean muscle and dark chest hair. Emma sighed, louder than she intended, and when Killian lifted his head sharply to catch her eye, covered it by coughing into her hand, and then turning away.

Afterwards Emma showed him to the tiny bedroom off the hallway. "It's, uh…well I think the people who used to live here stole some of the space to make the bathroom bigger. But it's still a pretty small bathroom. And some of the cupboards aren't hanging right, and one has a loose handle. But…I hope you'll be comfortable. In this room…not so much in the bathroom. Although, you know, feel free to use it."

"I'm sure I'll be fine," Killian assured her as she placed his bag in a corner of the room and then realised that to leave again she'd have to walk past him in the narrow space, beside the bed with the brand-spanking new bedding that she'd carefully picked out because she thought it would match Killian's eyes and the whole thing was just ridiculous really. How exactly did she end up here, again?

"Well, just try to keep it down. You know, because you snore. Despite what you told me before, you do, actually, snore." Emma tried for a nonchalant look as she squeezed herself past Killian towards the door.

"And how exactly did you come by this information, love?"

Emma turned and could feel her cheeks colouring. She had intended it to be a throwaway comment, another attempt at lightening the mood, but now she felt like some kind of crazy stalker, which, she supposed, made a nice change from crazy cat-lady, but didn't really help her self-esteem any.

"Um…in the hospital. First time I came to visit you…we were talking and then you just…fell asleep. And you snored. Honestly. Ask anyone. Aurora would tell you exactly the same thing."

"Well, I do apologise love. I hope I didn't miss anything important."

Emma's cheeks burned a little hotter at the thought of all the half-whispered confessions she'd made to Killian that night. "Nope. Not at all. Think it was just about Mr Smee…and, uh…frozen yoghurt. I said I would get him some. And I did."

Killian gave her a smile but there was something in his eyes that still looked as though he was appraising her, trying to figure out just exactly what she was hiding from him. "Thank you, love. Thank you for all you've done for Mr Smee. He's been very lucky. We both have."

"OK, so just repay that by keeping the snoring down and not hogging the bathroom, OK?" With that Emma left and walked into her own room, where both Tinkerbell and Mr Smee were waiting for her.

When she woke up in the morning, she was alone in the bed; not even Tinkerbell occupied her usual spot on the pillow next to Emma's head. Emma rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling for a moment, and then realised that although it was early, the house wasn't completely quiet. There were sounds coming from the kitchen. She could hear plates being moved, and a cupboard opened. A chair scraped on the hardwood. And Killian was talking, in a deep, low voice, saying words that she couldn't quite make out.

As tempting as it was to adopt the habits she'd assumed when she'd lived in shared houses in the past, to hide in her room until she was certain the coast was clear before venturing forth to use the bathroom or the kitchen, Emma decided that this was her house and surely she could be confident enough to just walk out there and see what was happening.

Still she continued to lie there and listen for a few moments longer until she struggled upright and pushed herself out of bed, grabbing her glasses from the nightstand on the way out of the room.

In the kitchen Emma found Killian sitting at the kitchen table, spooning something out of a bowl and watched, closely, by a not-very-patient Mr Smee. At first Emma assumed that Tinkerbell wasn't around, having perhaps eaten her breakfast and gone out to start her day, but then a small grey head popped over the edge of the table and Emma realised that, not only had Tinkerbell not retreated outside or to the top of the cupboards, but that she was actually sitting on Killian's lap as he ate.

All of a sudden she felt rather surplus to requirements and was tempted to back right out of the room, only that was the moment that Killian turned his head and saw she was hovering in the doorway. "Morning, love," he said, cheerfully.

"Uh. Yeah…" Emma had never been a morning person and dredging up the right words from her sleep-thickened brain seemed like a lot of effort. Most of the effort had to go into choosing words that were pleasant and didn't give away the fact that she may have been a prickly person at the best of times, but in the morning she was decidedly cranky. "Morning. I just, uh…I see I'm late to the party."

"Yes, sorry love. I wasn't sure what time you'd be up. I figured I'd let you sleep and I had company, anyway."

"Yeah. You do. Tinkerbell doesn't normally get that friendly. Not to the extent of sitting on people, anyway."

"I think she expects something as a reward, but I'm afraid that I normally let Mr Smee polish off the milk from my cornflakes in the morning." As if on cue, Tinkerbell strained her neck forward and took a big sniff of the contents of the bowl, watched by a rather possessive-looking Mr Smee.

"Right. OK. Yeah." Emma managed to focus long enough to get a look at Killian. He looked far brighter than he should have, sitting there wearing the same t-shirt and pyjama pants combo she'd seen him in when she'd gone to complain about Mr Smee. She was struck with the sudden, odd thought that it might be nice to crawl into his lap too, or, at least, run her hand through his hair and try to smooth it down for him.

In the end she settled for stroking Mr Smee's sparse fur before checking the coffeemaker in the hope that Killian had felt the need to make some. Half-way to the counter, she stopped and turned. "I have cornflakes?"

"Oh. I popped across the road. Checked on the place. All seems alright."

"Uh-huh." Emma had resumed the check of the coffeemaker, but, sadly, it sat empty and quiet on the counter. Sitting next to it, though, was a mug of what looked like steaming black tar.

"What's, uh…this?" she asked, leaning over and sniffing.

"Tea. I just have to let it steep for a while so it's drinkable. The tea in this country is a little on the weak side for my tastes, love."

"Oh. Yep. OK." Emma was still struggling with the conversation part of the morning. It was all a little overwhelming, this suddenly having a kitchen that was full of people and cats…well, _a_ person. He seemed to take up a lot of space in the kitchen though. And there were strange mugs of tea just sitting around and her cat had developed a taste for cornflake milk and Emma never ate cornflakes so how did Tinkerbell even know she would like it? Was it just because it was Killian's cornflake milk or did she get some kind of feline peer-pressure from Mr Smee? Cats were meant to be solitary, after all, so perhaps Tinkerbell thought she should be competing for all the available resources even if she didn't really want them.

Emma's brain was buzzing but she wasn't saying anything and was, in fact, staring at the kitchen countertop, a fact she only realised when Killian's voice suddenly asked "You alright, love?"

She turned to face him. "Just great. Just…not really a morning person."

"Well, why don't you go and have a shower and I might try figuring out that coffeemaker you've been staring at so longingly so it'll be ready for when you come out, yeah?"

"Um. OK. That'd be…nice." Emma was almost to the door before she thought of something. "I'm supposed to be taking care of you though. I mean, that's the reason you're here."

"Mmm, I don't think making coffee is going to send me back to hospital. And, Emma?"

"Yeah?"

"I like your glasses, love." Killian fixed her with a smile and managed to effectively block Mr Smee from stealing the cornflake milk with his hand, without even looking in the cat's direction. Emma was quietly impressed at the co-ordination he could muster this early in the morning.

"OK. I need them to see," she said, knowing it was kind of redundant but unable to think of a better response, and then she left to take her shower.

Showered, dressed, and with her contact lenses in Emma was awake enough to realise that the tank top she'd slept in was a little skimpy and perhaps she was lucky that Killian only commented on her glasses and not on anything else. Still, she felt considerably better and more ready to face the kitchen and maybe even Killian himself.

He was alone now, presumably the two cats had received their treats and gone off to…well, whatever cats did with their mornings. Perhaps they were napping, or just lurking and hoping that a really slow, fat bird landed nearby.

"Coffee?" Killian offered, holding out a mug towards to her.

"Thanks." Emma accepted the mug and took a sip. "It's good…so, uh. Thanks for this. And, uh, for being nice to me this morning. I'm, well…notreallyamorningperson." She mumbled the last part, feeling a bit ashamed of her inability to really function when she first got up, but Killian laughed it off.

"Oh, you're not the first grumpy woman I've dealt with in the morning, love."

Emma's heart dropped. _Shit!_ _The wife!_ Of course he wasn't new to this whole sharing a kitchen in the morning situation, and now she'd just gone and made him sad to boot. _Crap_. She was really bad at this whole being with other people thing. Cats were so much easier. God knows how many people Mr Smee had lost and never once had she accidentally mentioned his litter-mates and caused him to stare off into a corner for an hour or something.

She bit her lip and looked down into the mug of coffee, hoping Killian would just leave and go and be sad by himself, or something, but he didn't. Instead he said "It's OK, Emma. I don't mind talking about Milah. In fact, I spent so long trying to force myself to forget her that I actually find it a bit of a relief."

"You do?" Emma was surprised at that, talking about painful things just seemed like hurting yourself on purpose as far as she was concerned.

"I do. And I don't want you to feel…uncomfortable in your own home, after all. Alright?"

"Yep. No, that's…that's fine. Thank you…for, uh. Well, just being nice this morning."

"My pleasure, love. OK if I use the bathroom now?"

"Yep. You go right on ahead!" Emma said, a little too brightly to cover up the confusion she felt. Luckily Killian didn't appear to register any of it and he left the kitchen without a backward glance.

Emma was thankful for that because she couldn't quite make sense of it all in her own brain, so trying to justify her actions to anyone else would be hopeless. After all, it was just coffee. She got David coffee about seven times a week and that never confused her, unless he suddenly decided to go dairy-free again and forgot to let her know.

But this was somewhat unsettling, the way Killian just effortlessly fit himself into her morning routine and made it better. He promised her coffee, and he delivered it, and didn't want anything in return.

And the fact that it felt like such a rare occurrence in her life just made Emma feel sad and kind of broken, like she was some pathetic creature likely to beg Killian for whatever scraps he might offer her. She wouldn't of course. She had too much pride; or, at least, she hoped she did. But all the same her reaction worried her because she feared that it just wasn't normal.

Emma decided that she wasn't going to dwell on it any longer, and she went to work where at least she'd have something to occupy her mind. And she did, for a good few hours anyway, while she and David carried out the usual round of routine checks, paperwork and dealing with the people who just wandered into the station looking for help.

It wasn't until the afternoon that she allowed herself to think about Killian again, and she felt a bit bad for the way she'd abandoned him that morning. After all, she'd invited him to stay so she could look after him? Maybe she should check on him?

So she fired off a quick text message asking if he was OK. In response she received a picture of what appeared to be Tinkerbell clinging precariously to Killian's legs, with an orange fuzzy blur in the background that was most likely Mr Smee asleep in his chair. Emma decided to turn a blind eye to the fact that Killian's feet were clearly resting on the coffee table and be thankful that at least he wasn't overdoing it on his first day out of hospital.

In fact the picture made her kind of happy, although she didn't realise she was smiling until she looked up and noticed David giving her a bemused expression. "You get something funny?"

"Oh. You know. Just cat pictures and stuff." That was not a lie and Emma refused to feel guilty about it. At all.

David looked like he expected her to show him and Emma was worried that he might hold his hand out to take the phone, but he nodded instead and she tucked the phone safely away in her pocket. It wasn't that she thought there was anything wrong with having Killian stay with her, but she just wondered if perhaps she'd end up defending the decision when she really didn't want to. Not when it was temporary. Not when Killian's very presence in Storybrooke was temporary. It was hardly worth the bother.

David could be annoyingly perceptive at times, though. Or maybe just blindly lucky in the questions he chose to ask. "So, your neighbour…friend. That guy. He out of hospital yet?"

"Ah, yep." And then, desperate to change the subject, Emma asked how Mary Margaret was doing, which led David into a long explanation of how her sickness, which was more all-day than morning, was starting to wane, but she was incredibly tired. It probably contained more details than Emma really needed, but it had the desired effect of moving David's thoughts away from Killian.

And Emma only thought about him occasionally for the rest of the afternoon, mainly wondering if Tinkerbell had got fed up with sitting on him yet, or why she thought Killian was special enough to sit on, anyway. But whatever Emma had pictured Killian might be doing, it wasn't anything like the scene that greeted her in the kitchen when she did get home.

"Are you…making dinner?" Emma asked, although the evidence seemed pretty clear as to what was going on.

"Uh, yes. Roast beef." Killian gestured towards the oven and Emma looked through the glass door, more than a little surprised to see her muffin pan also jammed in there.

"And there's dessert?" Emma asked.

"Yorkshire puddings."

"So…dessert then?"

"No. You eat them with the meat."

"Seems a little weird." Emma straightened up and looked over at Killian, who raised one eyebrow.

"And yet in this country it's perfectly acceptable to douse potatoes in marshmallow at Thanksgiving."

"Well, sweet potatoes maybe. Alright, I'll try the pudding-cup things."

Killian sighed, loud enough that Emma could hear him. "We'll have to hope they actually rise, love. Been a while since I attempted them. Do you want some wine in the meantime?" He held a bottle up for Emma to see.

"Wine? But you can't drink with your meds."

Killian looked a little sheepish. "I bought it for you." He started to open the bottle but Emma held up a hand to stop him.

"So, this dinner…all the food and the wine, was something you went out and bought? And then you got back and made it all? I thought you were supposed to be resting. You sent that photo and you were clearly sitting in the living room. With Tinkerbell."

"Well, in my defence, they will deliver your groceries if you ask nicely…and maybe mention being injured. And when I sent that photo the roast was already on…" Killian said a little sheepishly. "So, really, what's done is done now. Just, you sit down and have some wine."

Emma started to get a sinking feeling, and it wasn't solely due to the fact that Killian had probably been over-doing it on his first full day out of hospital. "I'm just a little bit concerned that the next words out of your mouth are going to be an offer to run me a bath, or something." Emma shrugged and then there was an uncomfortable moment when neither of them spoke and Emma thought she might have offended Killian.

He put the bottle of wine back down on the table and walked the couple of steps until he was right in front of her. "You think this is all some kind of elaborate seduction?" he asked, tilting his head and looking way too seductive for Emma's liking. She wanted to take a step back and just get a little distance from him, but held her ground.

"I…no. No! I just don't want you thinking this is…I mean we agreed. Yesterday. So you know, you shouldn't have been making puddings and buying wine on my account. I'm just doing this to be a friend." Even to Emma's ears it was starting to sound like she was protesting just a little bit much. She'd said that line before, hadn't she? And she was no longer entirely certain if she kept repeating it for her own benefit, or Killian's.

"Well, Emma, I'd like to think that if anything changed, if you decided we could be more than friends then it would be because you wanted me, and not because I'd concocted some half-baked scheme to seduce you." Killian seemed a little closer now than he had even just a moment earlier, and he reached forward and brushed her arm with his hand. That shouldn't have been seductive at all, especially given the fact he'd just said that wasn't his aim. But somehow it was, and Emma had to fight the urge to just give up and lean into his embrace.

"Oh. Well. OK, then," she managed to croak out in the end once she had managed to take a deep breath and try to collect her thoughts. A moment later, though, she realised that there was the possibility that she'd just agreed that maybe they could one day be more than friends.

Somehow that kind of thing kept happening to her. Around Killian, anyway. And it was getting tiring this constant battle between what she thought she should allow herself and what she really wanted and the longer it went on the more likely it became that she just gave up trying.

But she was Emma Swan. And she wasn't going down without a fight.

Desperate to put a little distance between herself and Killian she blurted out. "I'm going to get changed and then…yeah. Pudding." She walked hastily into her bedroom and shut the door behind her, leaning against it as though she was afraid Killian might come and break it down.

She was being ridiculous. And she really needed to stop.

Emma threw on the first jeans and t-shirt she found and brushed out her hair before retreating to the bathroom to splash water on her face in the hope it would help calm her down a little more. It was only as she reached into the cupboard above the sink to find the packet of hair elastics she'd stashed in there that Emma realised the handle wasn't as loose as it had been. And the door fit better, she discovered, when she opened and closed it several times. And so did the door under the sink.

Killian had obviously been doing more with his day than just shopping and cooking, Emma reflected, as she twisted her hair into a ponytail. It was either touching, or a little creepy, and, at that moment, she couldn't completely decide.

Although she was leaning towards it being touching. And she didn't know if she was giving him a free pass or not, but, taking a deep breath and giving herself a hard look in the bathroom mirror, Emma decided she was just going to roll with it. The man had made her pudding after all.

When Emma walked back into the kitchen Killian watched her enter, and she wished she was as effective at hiding in the shadows as Tinkerbell occasionally was. As tempting as it was to take a leaf out of her cat's book and climb up to the top of the cupboards, Emma forced herself to smile and remain at floor-level. "Thanks, for fixing the bathroom cupboards, too," she said, taking the glass of wine Killian held out to her.

"Oh, no problem, love. Truth be told it got a little boring sitting by myself this morning after the cats buggered off, and it was an easy enough job to do," he replied, with a somewhat wary glance. He seemed to be waiting for her to accuse him of some kind of nefarious purpose again and it made her feel a little ashamed.

"Look…Killian. I'm sorry I was a bit, um…well I accused you of trying to just get in my pants, I guess." Emma winced, wishing she'd thought of a better expression to use, but pressed on. "But I think you are just trying to be nice…so, I'm just going to shut up and be grateful now."

Killian nodded. "Fair enough, love. Plus, the state I'm in I've no doubt you could really hurt me if you wanted to. I'm hardly much of a threat." He flashed her a smile that was all teeth and seemed far too cocky for a guy who was talking about how she could beat him up if she wanted to.

"I think that's the case whatever state you're in, but, please don't spoil the moment by saying how much you'd enjoy it if I kicked your ass. Don't be that guy."

"Darling, I would never be that guy." Killian placed a hand over his heart and looked kind of solemn, like he was making a promise to her that he intended to keep. But then his attention was pulled away by the oven beeping. "I think dinner's just about to be served; take a seat and I'll bring it over."

Emma did as she'd been instructed and was soon joined by Mr Smee, who showed his usual impeccable timing in the matter of food being served. Emma removed him from the table a couple of times and before he got the message and sat in an empty chair instead.

Dinner was delicious. Especially the puddings, which, it turned out, were crunchy. Emma ate three and then found herself watching Killian as he helped himself to another from the dish on the table. It was an awful habit, watching other people to make sure they didn't take her share, but one she found it hard to break.

Killian noticed though, and put another of the puddings on her plate. "You seem to have run out, love."

"I'd be worried that you're fattening me up for Christmas, except…" She let that hang in the air. _Except you won't still be here at Christmas_ was what she thought.

"Except I would miss your company too much."

"Hmm. OK. Well now you're just making me feel bad for saying I might let Mr Smee eat you if you fall over and can't get up."

"You didn't say you'd definitely let him, just that he'd want to. And, like I said, I wouldn't put it past him. He's a survivor, that's for certain. Perhaps we have that in common." He cast a fond glance at the cat, who was still sitting on the chair and trying to work out the best way to launch an assault on the table. Every so often he'd raise a paw, touch the table, but when either Killian or Emma glanced his way, he'd give up and go back to waiting patiently for them to look away again.

"Well, you're not the one trying to steal food. And it's really good. I just…it's really good." Emma was trying not to sound too surprised by that fact, but whatever she'd been expecting, it wasn't this.

"I'm just glad that the Yorkshire's rose and the meat's not overdone," Killian said, with a shrug. "I haven't done anything like this for a long time."

Emma took a bite and thought about the conversation they'd had that morning and decided that perhaps Killian hadn't been giving her permission so much as asking for her help. And, fine. If he wanted to talk about Milah, she could do that.

"So you used to cook for your wife?"

"Some. Not at first…when I met her my cooking skills ran about as far as beans on toast." He chuckled, ruefully. "But, uh, Milah taught me. She was much better than I am, but I picked up the basics."

Emma nodded and went back to eating, wondering if she'd now done what she was supposed to. That was how it worked, didn't it? Normal human interaction with another human being. You asked a question and they answered it and you moved on.

Only why did she feel like she should add something else, share something from her life? More to the point, why did she want to?

Before she could lose her nerve Emma blurted out "No one really teaches you to cook when you're a foster kid. In the group homes, it's just too busy and they just want to get food on the table. Maybe you'll get to chop some vegetables, but that's about it. And when you're in someone else's home, they're not going to waste their time on a kid who'll be gone soon, plus, you know, they're hardly going to let you loose in the kitchen when they think you'll just steal everything that's in there."

Emma lifted her eyes from her plate and risked looking over at Killian. He nodded, briefly, and carried on eating. Emma supposed it wasn't so bad, this sharing thing. Maybe. With Killian at least.

And it seemed like a small recompense for such a nice dinner.

After dinner, after the dishes were washed and Mr Smee had been plied with several small pieces of beef, which he informed them loudly were not enough to really satisfy his appetite but he'd eat them anyway, Emma found herself sitting on the sofa next to Killian again, feeling a little drowsy and replete after stuffing in so many Yorkshire puddings herself.

And she felt braver now, after the conversation at dinner. A little braver, anyway. She still couldn't quite find it in herself to ask the question she really wanted to, which was _"When are you leaving?"_ Emma didn't think she could handle the answer to that one. But, perhaps, she could ask something else that she wondered about. If the ending was too painful to contemplate, perhaps she might do better with the beginning.

"Why here? Why Storybrooke…I mean, it seems a long way from where you started?"

"Are you asking for my life story, love?" Killian's voice was low and quiet and Emma knew that if she turned her head to look at him, rather than the TV, then she'd be close enough to see the individual bristles on his cheek, to make out which ones were a lighter red-blond, and the way the skin crinkled at the corners of his eye. But she wasn't going to do that, she was just going to listen and not let herself be distracted by cataloguing all the features she found so appealing on Killian's face.

"I just…I was just curious," Emma confessed. "I mean, I know so much about Mr Smee, but very little about the person he lives with."

"He's not been spilling my secrets to you?"

"No, he's been remarkably tight-lipped."

Killian sighed, and shifted a little and Emma found herself sliding closer to him, her head ending up almost on his shoulder. She thought she should straighten up, put a little distance between them, but she couldn't find it in her to move from where she was warm and comfortable.

"I, um…well, after Milah died I just wanted something new. So I signed on to crew some billionaire's super-yacht for a while. We went as far as New Zealand, then back up to San Francisco. Ended up on this coast in the end, just moving around. And then I found Mr Smee, or, perhaps, he found me, and I kind of went where the work was, as long as it was somewhere I could go with a cat."

"Like Storybrooke?"

"Like Storybrooke, indeed."

"But you still have family in England? You'll go back there one day?" This time Emma did twist her head a little, just in time to watch something dark and painful pass over Killian's face.

"I don't have any family really. Not now, anyway."

Emma pressed her shoulder closer to Killian's and he laid his hand over hers in response. "I guess that's something you and I have in common, then," she said.

"Kindred spirits," Killian replied.

"Waifs and strays."

There was a pause in the conversation, the television still murmured in the background and Killian's finger traced patterns on Emma's wrist in a way that was almost hypnotic. "Want to tell me about them?" she asked.

"Well…my mother started out as my brother's babysitter," he replied in a tone that was far too flippant for the subject matter.

"OK."

"His mother was hit by a drunk driver who mounted the footpath one afternoon and somehow missed the baby buggy she was pushing…maybe she pushed it out of the way, saved her baby, but couldn't save herself. She died before she made it to the hospital. But that's about all I know of her. _My_ mother was the girl my dad paid to look after Liam…my brother. And, then, I guess, something happened. And I can only assume really, because she's not around to ask, but I would think that it's one thing playing house when you're only there part-time, and something else entirely finding yourself at 19 in a grotty flat with a baby and a small boy and a man who's barely there, in body or in spirit."

"That does sound tough."

"Uh-huh. Must have been." Killian's voice was terse and cold. "So she left and I don't know much about her either, apart from what Liam could tell me, which wasn't a lot. He liked her. Apparently she was very free with the biscuits…you know, cookies, when there were any in the house. I guess that appeals to a small boy. And then it was just the three of us."

"Is it still?" Emma asked, almost dreading the answer. Killian's hand had stilled against her own and she moved slightly, flipping them over so hers was on top, palm to palm, her fingers sliding into the gaps between his and holding him firmly, as though she was afraid he might just float away on a sea of painful memories and never make it back to her again.

"No. Liam died when I was 16. He was 20. Spent a weekend away with some friends and they went swimming in the river not realising that it wasn't as safe as it looked. He went in to save a friend. The friend lived, Liam didn't." Killian sighed. "He was always a bit reckless at the worst of times."

"And your dad?"

"Last I saw of him he was off to Brighton for a job, or a girlfriend…or something, anyway. Told me to get a train down in a couple of weeks and he'd meet me. But he didn't and I couldn't find anyone who'd seen hide nor hair of him. I think…I think it just got to be too much for him. Too many people had disappeared out of his life and he gave up; couldn't find it in him to care anymore and he just…buggered off God knows where. So I drifted around…tried to keep out of too much trouble, best as I could, anyway. By the time I was 18 I washed up near Portsmouth and ended up in Milah's B&B, one she'd inherited from her parents. I was skint, she let me hang around as long as I did something to help out. Eventually she said she wasn't that interested if I didn't get my act together, so I found a more permanent job, working for a company that built yachts."

"And you just stayed?"

"I did. Until Milah wasn't there anymore and I had nothing to stay for." Killian sighed. "She was good for me though; a little older, more settled. I hate to think what it might have been like if I hadn't met her. She was the right person for me, at that time. The person that I needed and I was lucky to find her." Emma nodded as best she could without lifting her head from its resting place against Killian's shoulder. She didn't have to imagine what it was he'd so narrowly avoided, not with knowing what her own life had been like at 18.

"You loved her a lot," she said quietly, despite the fact that, and it hurt to admit this even to just herself, she did feel a little jealous. Not just because Milah had been loved by Killian, but because she'd been loved at all. Emma didn't think she'd ever had anything like that, or was ever likely to. She'd never been the right person for anyone.

"I did…do. It's a little different now she's been gone a while. At first I was so angry that I couldn't keep her, but maybe my life isn't over just yet." Killian sighed. "And at least everything that happened with Milah taught me one thing. I'm nothing like my father."

Emma wasn't certain how to respond to that; there was nothing she could say that would change any of what had happened to him. "What about you, love?" Killian murmured, in the end, his other arm slipping around her shoulders and the fingers tangling in her hair. Really, she should move, Emma thought. Move away and get some distance, a little perspective. But she was going to be selfish, and stay just where she was.

"Oh. Out of the foster system. Did some things I'm not proud of, got my heart broken." Sometimes she was almost thankful that Neal had left her high and dry, not sure where the line that signified 'too far' would have been. She was lucky she got out of the life of the petty criminal when she did, she could see that now. At the time his betrayal had been devastating. "Tried a few jobs in a few places and then wound up here," she continued. "And stayed."

"With a house and a cat and everything."

"Yep, that's me."

"But why Storybrooke, love?"

Emma twisted the hand that was holding Killian's, not quite breaking off the contact, but tempted all the same. Over the years she'd tried out a few different versions of this story, all of them outright lies. But she couldn't lie to him, or, rather, she wouldn't.

"It's where she left me. My mother. She left me on the side of the road, near where you were hit by that car. They think I was only a day or so old. And I just came back because…well I wondered if anyone knew anything or remembered anything. Someone who'd been pregnant, someone who'd left suddenly, maybe. But they didn't, at least, the people I asked didn't. They did remember the baby, though, and once they knew it was me, well they just looked at me differently after that. Like I wasn't a real person, just a curious object they'd heard people talk about. So I stopped asking, but I stayed anyway."

"And joined the police."

"Yeah. That was David's doing, really. I took a job doing some filing at the station…nothing much. I thought I could maybe ask around, see what they knew about…about how I was found. It was a dead end, though. David tried, but he couldn't turn up any leads. But he suggested I apply, and he let me meet his girlfriend, who had a room to rent, and then…well here I am."

"Here you are indeed, love." Killian's voice was warm and tender and it was like rubbing balm into an ache that she'd had for a long, long time.

"Yeah," Emma said, feeling a little drowsy and allowing herself to relax back down again. "Here's not so bad, really."

Emma wasn't certain how long they stayed on the sofa, only that after a while she felt herself being gently nudged awake. "Oh God, sorry! I was leaning on you too much…are you sore? Did you ice your ribs earlier? You should have iced your ribs like Dr Whale told you to."

"I'm fine, love. Really. But you should probably go to bed. As much as I don't want to lose your company you clearly need your sleep."

"Yeah. I guess." Emma felt disoriented, like she'd missed out on something. They'd had the heart to heart and then she'd just…fallen asleep. Which seemed anti-climactic, although she wasn't sure what kind of climax she'd expected, or even wanted. Declarations of love, passionate kisses, all would have been more exciting, sure, but they also would have complicated matters between Killian and herself. And complicated wasn't something she was looking for.

"OK. Well, goodnight Killian." Emma stood up, reluctantly, and walked towards the door.

""night, love."

And things were just as calm, just as companionable in the morning. Emma was less reluctant to get out of bed, feeling more prepared about what would greet her in the kitchen. And sure enough it was almost identical to the previous day. Two cats, one Killian and not enough milk in the cornflakes to make that equation work at all. One mug of steamy black tea-tar lurking on the kitchen counter…and one cup of coffee waiting for her beside the toaster.

"Thank-you," she said, to Killian, who was trying to fend off Mr Smee's unwelcome advances.

"You're welcome love," he replied, smiling broadly.

No, who wanted complicated when she could have this. And this was all far more civilised, more fitting of the adult she liked to think she was these days, not the scared little girl she feared she'd always remain.

She was glad of her pleasant start to the day as the morning wore on and she was dispatched to the Lucas's B&B to speak to Mrs Gold, the pawnbroker's wife. Mr Gold had been hanging around, making a nuisance of himself, and had got himself into Mrs Lucas's bad books. Emma was to see if the wife wanted anything done about it.

It was always tricky in these situations; no one ever wanted to come right out and say the person they had picked was a threat to them. Half the time the women went back, and Emma couldn't really blame them. Life without a safety net was awful and sometimes it was hard to walk away from a home, from a life, however bad it seemed on the outside. It was still _something_ , and it was hard to throw that away on a promise of nothing in return.

So she talked it through with the woman, but they reached no real solution. All Emma could do was try to impress upon Mrs Gold that she would have support, whatever she decided. And then Emma returned to the station to catch up with David, who had been doing some follow-ups on his own.

"How'd it go," he asked.

"As well as I could expect. She says she'd like him to leave her alone, but he keeps saying he loves her, and she's wavering. Plus he's careful to avoid doing anything outright illegal. He's moved her car a couple of times as he still has a set of keys, but only about three spaces along. He's just being a nuisance at the moment, and making sure she can't just forget him. It might escalate, it might not. She says she trusts him, but who knows?" Trust seemed a fragile thing to Emma, and far too easily broken in the hands of someone careless.

"Guess we just keep an eye on the situation," David said, nodding, mostly to himself, and with a heavy sigh that let Emma know he could see where Mr Gold's actions could lead as well.

"How'd you get on?" Emma asked.

"Oh, alright. I went to see that neighbour of yours, Killian? See if he could remember anything else about the accident."

"Oh. Did you?" Emma tried to sound as casual as possible.

"Mmm. He wasn't home though."

"Right. OK. Well I can catch him later if you want."

"Oh no. I spoke to him." David broke into a smile, letting Emma know he'd been stringing her along the whole time. "He saw me out your living room window, waved me over."

"Right. Yeah. Course he did." It wasn't like she was trying to hide Killian away from everyone she knew, but, even so, it might have been nice if he'd just laid low. "So, could he remember anything?" Emma asked, hoping to keep the conversation on track.

"Nope. Nothing, really. And it looks like you're getting Shepherd's pie for dinner."

"Oh. Am I? That's, uh…that's nice."

"Yeah. I can see why you invited him to stay."

"No, it's not like that! I didn't…not because he'd make dinner. You make it sound like I've enslaved him. It's just…dinner. And I was being nice, because he's only just out of hospital."

David shrugged. "He's says he's doing OK, just a bit bored. Hence the pie. It looked good."

"Are you hoping for an invitation?"

"Well, I wouldn't say no. I mean, I understand completely why Mary Margaret falls asleep every afternoon, but, you know…" David stopped speaking and looked a little sheepish.

"You miss having someone make your dinner?"

"Yeah. Just a bit."

"Welcome to the real world. How about I get you coffee?"

"Well, that's a start," David called, as Emma walked to the coffee machine. "But it's not the same as Shepherd's pie."

When she returned with a cup of coffee for each of them, Emma hesitated for a moment, and then blurted out "So you don't think it's weird? Killian staying with me?"

"Do you think it's weird?" David asked, peering suspiciously into the cup.

"Uh…no. I guess not. Well, the mugs of tea that just lurk on the counter until they grow legs and walk away are a bit weird, but I guess I can live with it."

"Well that's OK then. Did you put sugar in this?" David took a sip and pulled a face.

"I thought you were giving up sugar? Fine. I'll get you some."

When Emma got home she could see the extent of Killian's boredom, in pieces all over the living room floor, a curious Mr Smee walking through it delicately, sniffing the odd piece. "You're, uh…busy."

"Just trying to get your vacuum to work better, love. It's not really picking anything up." He turned to watch what the cat was doing. "No, Mr Smee! We don't eat the screws."

"Yeah, I had noticed that…" Emma tried to remember when she'd last actually used it.

"I pulled a lot of hair out of the head. I think that was the problem." He held up a large ball of fluff and fur and other assorted nasty stuff.

"Really? That much cat fur?" Emma supposed it was possible. Mr Smee had been around a lot and he did shed a lot. "No wonder it wasn't working.

"No, human hair. Most of it long and blonde."

"Humph." Killian was enjoying this far too much, grinning widely at her. "Well, you know, it's not like I shed or anything. Not like your cat does."

"I don't know, love. I think you might be getting your summer coat." Killian smirked and raised one eyebrow and, she couldn't help it, Emma smiled back. It was kind of funny, after all.

"It's OK, though," Killian continued. "I'm sure Tinkerbell will still let you sit on the sofa even if you do leave hair all over it."

"Yeah, yeah. You're funny. I'm going to get changed, now." Retreating to her room Emma reflected that she'd been right when she'd told David it didn't feel weird having Killian here. In fact, it felt the opposite of weird…whatever that was. It felt kind of normal now, for him to just be here, waiting for her. Kind of like Mr Smee.

Only Killian was less demanding and had nicer personal habits.

And Emma decided to just leave it at that. She wasn't really one for a lot of introspection, having learned from past experience that her life was what it was and she'd have to cope with the bad things that happened to her as best she could. So maybe she should just take Mary Margaret's advice and enjoy this happy moment while she had the chance.

Although Emma, perhaps naively, expected the moment to last a little longer than it did. She'd been lulled into a false sense of security by the fact that Killian seemed more than happy to hang around. Sure the dinners he cooked were nice, the odd jobs he made up to fill in his day were even nicer, but what she really liked was just having someone there, someone who was happy to hear about her day, play 'can cats eat this food or will it kill them?' with her, and just generally remain that same, warm solid presence in her life.

And, even Emma would admit, it was certainly possible that the fact she was undeniably attracted to Killian didn't hurt. Perhaps she was more attracted to him now that she knew she didn't just appreciate him physically. If they had hooked up then she wouldn't have been adverse to him hanging around past breakfast.

But that wasn't going to happen, although he was hanging around past breakfast all the time. And when she got home on Friday night Killian was still there, where she'd left him. Only he looked a little worried. "So, uh, what's happening?" Emma asked him.

"Well I thought I would give you a night off, love."

"Night off? I'm not working tonight."

"No, from chasing me around trying to make me take my shirt off."

"Yeah…you keep telling yourself that's why I'm doing it. But the ice is helping you. You're getting around much better now."

"Ah, and that's the thing love." Killian gave her a smile that looked a little kindly, the type of smile you'd give someone when you're about to break bad news. Emma's stomach lurched unexpectedly, which just made her feel _silly_ , and, worse, a little vulnerable. It was hardly a feeling Emma enjoyed.

"I thought I might head back across the road tonight." Killian scratched the back of his head and looked away.

Emma got the feeling there was more to the story. Sure, she'd expected him to leave at some point. At least, she thought she was prepared for it. But to just spring it on her, seemed odd. "Oh. Uh. OK. You sure that's wise?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine, love. But if I'm going to go to work tomorrow…"

"But you can't," Emma blurted out. "You're injured."

"I'm a lot better now; you said so yourself."

"Not for work. Not for…well whatever the hell it is you do. What if you make it worse? What will you do then?"

Killian shrugged. "I'm sure I can manage. I'll take it easy…but I can't stay away from work forever, love. It's just not practical. I need something to do, and I need…"

"No, you need to just take care of yourself." Emma was frustrated now. The whole idea was just idiotic and doomed to fail. Killian had been fine, hadn't he? Just pottering around her place. OK, it probably wasn't the most exciting way to spend his days, but he was recovering, and he needed to rest. "Plus it's Friday tomorrow, what's the point of working for one day?"

"The point is that I want to."

"Well, what are you going to do if a boat falls on you or something, and you can't get up? What'll happen to Mr Smee then? You promised him you'd look after him, and you can't just dump him with me. It was bad enough when you got yourself hit by the car. I thought…I thought you were dead when I found you. And Mr Smee…he'd be so upset if that happened."

Emma's voice was considerably louder now, and even she could hear the desperation that accompanied her words. She felt ridiculous, betrayed by the emotions that had suddenly burst to the surface. After so long trying to push down the worry that Killian was leaving, ignoring the voice in her head saying she could never have a future with him, it was all just boiling over now. So much for living in the moment. As far as Emma was concerned, this moment really _sucked._

Killian was giving her a strange look; part concern and part…something else. Probably he was horrified at her outburst. Emma certainly was.

"You're being a little over-the-top about it, love," he said, not bothering to hide that he was annoyed now.

And, suddenly, it was like someone poured a bucket of cold water over Emma. "You know what?" she said, in a much cooler voice than she'd been able to muster previously. "It is ridiculous. _I_ am being totally ridiculous."

Killian narrowed his eyes and looked at Emma appraisingly. "Are you sure you're alright, love? Because something's bothering you and I'm worried it's going to cause a problem between us."

Emma shrugged, feeling much more like herself now. "That's the thing. There's no _us_. I don't do…anything like that." Killian looked taken aback, and started to say something, probably he was going to refute her statement. Emma carried on, regardless. If she didn't get it out now, if she didn't stop this once and for all before it completely got out of hand, then she'd only have herself to blame later.

"I'm sorry," she said, in a voice that didn't sound particularly sorry at all. "But I can't. I don't know how, and you know what Killian? You may not be like your father, but I have figured out that I am _exactly_ like my mother, whoever the hell she was. I am not putting myself through something I will fail at. I will do too much, or too little, or just…and this is the most likely scenario, _nothing_ , and you will end up walking away. And really, what's the point? Why put myself through it? I'm not your love, and I've never been the right person for anyone and I think perhaps you had better leave now. I'll see you round."

It was quite a speech and Emma was hoping her exit, or, at least, the retreat she beat to her bedroom would be similarly dramatic would be painlessly quick, but she hadn't counted on the fact that Mr Smee had come wandering out of the kitchen to see what had happened to his dinner and she nearly tripped over him. "And take your damn cat with you!" Emma said, as she stumbled, much louder and angrier than she'd intended.

She made it to the bedroom without further incident and then she just sat on her bed, too numb to cry or do anything. And if she expected Killian to plead with her from the other side of the door, then she was fooling herself. It seemed she'd succeeded in making her point. She did, in the end, hear him moving around in the spare room, gathering up his belongings, no doubt. And then, in the hallway, she heard him say "Come on, Mr Smee. Let's go home," before the front door opened, and then closed again.

Well, that was done.

She sat there for a little longer, until the tears threatened to fall and she decided she wasn't going to allow herself to wallow. Better to just face the empty house head-on and get on with…whatever it was she thought she was going to do now.

But when she got to the kitchen she found someone hadn't understood her message. Mr Smee was sitting in the middle of the table and let out a plaintive yowl when he saw her coming. "You can go home now," she said firmly. "I don't need you."

Mr Smee didn't seem impressed by that. He sat, making eye contact and then yowled again, with the air of someone trying to communicate in a foreign language.

"You're not mine," she yelled. "Go home! I was perfectly fine until you got here, and you ruined everything!"

Mr Smee looked at her with his ancient yellow eyes and walked a few steps to the edge of the table before sitting down again and yowling. It looked like nothing Emma did was going to get through to him.

"I don't want to pretend anymore, Mr Smee," Emma said, quietly. She gathered him in her arms, thinking she'd put him out the front door and hope he found his way home, but instead it just seemed easier to sink into a chair and bury her face in his fur. At least Mr Smee would have the decency not to complain that she was getting his back wet with her tears.

"Oh, Mr Smee," she whispered, as he started up his rusty purr. "I think I've done something really stupid."

**Thanks for reading!**


	5. Chapter 5

Emma spent a miserable night stuck with her own company. Well, mostly her own company. Mr Smee was good enough to stick around for a large part of it, mostly due to his conviction that Emma was somehow holding out on him and there would be dinner at some point, and possibly his strange fetish for using Emma's feet as a pillow.

Tinkerbell was less enthused with the air of melancholy that had invaded the cottage. She stuck her nose into the kitchen in time to witness Emma's tears and managed to muster a look of horror that Emma wasn't sure cats should even be capable of. Tinkerbell wasn't spotted again until bedtime and even then, she was careful to arrange herself on the pillow so that her back was to Emma and she didn't have to deal with Emma's pesky emotions.

You could totally tell whose cat she was.

But even Mr Smee had his limits, it seemed, and when Emma woke up in the morning he was absent from her bed.

For some reason that felt like an utter betrayal, and brought home the fact that Killian was gone and wasn't coming back. No, he'd take his cat and just leave and that would be that.

Only that didn't feel like that. It felt painful and raw and it took a great deal of willpower for Emma to push it down enough for her to start her workday with some semblance of emotional control. And Emma thought that she was in control, that she was hiding everything beautifully, right up until the point David, who had been suspiciously quiet as well all morning, brought her coffee.

"What's that for?"

"I just…thought you might like some. I was getting some anyway." David shrugged and made a poor showing of looking nonchalant. "You know Emma, normal people say thank you."

"Well…thanks." Emma waited for the follow up questions on why she was moody, or perhaps a casual inquiry into what Killian was making for dinner, but David was suspiciously quiet, apart from the rustling of the papers he made a great show of stacking up.

"You know," David said, suddenly. "You should come to dinner tonight, with me and Mary Margaret. We're just going to the diner. Mary Margaret says she wants a night off from cooking."

"Oh. Uh…" Emma tried to think of a reason to get out of it.

"You have plans?" David asked, a little too quickly.

"Nope. Nothing…but, uh. I don't want to intrude on your date night." Emma couldn't imagine much worse than playing third wheel right then.

"Phfft. It's hardly a  _date_. Mary Margaret has a craving for the lasagne from Granny's. And it has to be that one. It can't just be random lasagne."

"She knows they buy it in frozen, right?" Emma asked.

"I don't think she cares…it's something to do with the cheese. The more rubbery the better at the moment, apparently. So anyway, it'll be nice to have some company when Mary Margaret decides to go and talk to Ruby, or accidentally falls asleep beside her cheesecake."

"A normal person would just play  _Candy Crush_  on their phone, David."

"Yeah…but, you know…I thought you might like to help me out." David gave her a pleading look across the desks.

"Oh God, was that why you got me coffee? Fine. I'll go."

David chuckled. "You love me really. I'm like the brother you never had."

Emma sighed. "Wanted. I think the term is  _wanted_." It wasn't strictly true of course. For a long time all Emma had wanted was a big brother who'd be in her corner no matter what. She just hadn't realised that her end of the bargain would be to provide a constant source of entertainment during the boring moments.

And she definitely hadn't realised that David had invited her to dinner under false pretences until Mary Margaret joined them in the booth at Granny's. "Sorry!" she announced, unbuttoning her coat. "I got caught up at the staff meeting. Honestly, some people do just go on and on and on." She sat down heavily. "And all I could think about was lasagne." She looked across the table at Emma. "How're you doing?"

"Me. Great," Emma lied outright.

"Uh-huh. OK." Mary Margaret tilted her head and looked sympathetic. "Well, that's good, I guess."

"Why are you guessing?" Emma looked from Mary Margaret to David, who had turned in his seat and looked like he was trying to silently communicate with his wife.

"Well I thought…" Mary Margaret began, before she glanced sideways to see David's rather pointed look. "No reason. Just…uh, you know. We're all hungry and service is a little slow. I'm going to go and see where Ruby's at." With that she stood up and walked off towards the counter.

"So I'm not here for my scintillating conversation?" Emma commented, to a now rather sheepish looking David.

"Um…well, yes. But perhaps also, no."

Emma looked down at the table rather than continue watching David try to worm his way out of the situation. "Look, Emma," she heard him say. "I just thought you could do with some company. I didn't want to pry…but you seemed down, and I wanted you to know that you're not alone."

Emma took a deep breath, but kept her eyes down _. It was fine. She could do this. She wasn't going to run._

"Yeah. OK. Thanks." Emma lifted her eyes and met David's, briefly, before Mary Margaret slid back into her seat.

"Everything's going to be fine, my lasagne is on its way," she announced, happily.

"And someone's coming to take our orders?" David asked.

Now it was Mary Margaret's turn to look sheepish. "Oh. Yes. I'll go and ask Ruby." With that she stood up again, and quickly disappeared. Emma looked over at David, who was grinning at her, and she managed to raise a smile in return.

Her smile was definitely faltering by the time she left to drive home. Sure, David and Mary Margaret hadn't pried into her business, and mostly the evening had been spent with David poking fun at how much lasagne his wife was eating and that had taken her mind off the whole debacle from the night before for just a little while.

But the closer she got to home, the more she realised that the only person who would be waiting for her there was likely to be Tinkerbell, and maybe, if she was lucky, Mr Smee. And, perhaps, calling them people was stretching the definition of the term just a little.

The thought depressed her; the contrast from the previous few nights, when she knew that Killian would be there, was far too great. It wasn't that she would miss the dinners Killian had been making her...well, she  _would_. The burger she'd eaten at Granny's had been palatable, but it nowhere near as good as some of the things she'd been eating recently. But what Emma thought she would miss most was just having someone to talk to, someone who could actually hold up the other side of the conversation.

Someone who didn't just yowl his complaints at her.

Having spent the last few minutes of the drive home commiserating with herself over how awful it was going to be in her empty cottage, Emma was not prepared for the sight of Killian sitting on her front steps as she pulled into the driveway.

It was so unexpected, and so at odds with everything she'd been preparing herself for, that Emma momentarily forgot how to drive and almost didn't hit the brakes on the car in time. And, once she had come to a halt, she was tempted to just stay where she was and hope that Killian hadn't seen her very conspicuously park not five feet from where he was sitting.

There was nothing for it, but to face him and find out exactly what he was here for. Possibly he'd just forgotten something and there could be a civil, if rather painful, exchange outside her doorstep.

Emma's stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought and she began to realise that while lovers who just ran out on you in the middle of the night didn't do much for your self-esteem, at least they didn't stick around to really twist the knife.

"Uh…hello," she ventured, as she rounded the car and walked towards the front door, while Killian eyed her warily. "How was, uh…work?"

"Well, as you can see, I didn't get crushed by a falling boat, love." Killian's eyes flicked away from Emma's quickly and he scratched at the back of his head, looking ill at ease, which was how Emma felt as well.

 _We make a good pair_  she thought.

_Except that we don't._

"Look, Killian I…" Emma stopped, sighed, and started again, trying to get to the point. "Why are you here?" The question sounded a little blunter than she would have liked, but Emma knew that any time spent in idle chit chat was just going to prolong the pain.

Killian stood up and Emma wished now that she hadn't come quite so close to talk to him, because all of a sudden he was just  _there_  and it was utterly overwhelming.

"He smelled like you. Mr Smee. At breakfast…he smelled like you when he came home. Like your perfume, or shampoo, or something."

Emma tried to gauge just what that statement was supposed to mean. She could make out the expression in Killian's blue eyes and he seemed earnest, perhaps? Or perhaps he meant something else altogether, and was accusing her of trying to keep Mr Smee as a kind of hostage.

"Look, I didn't keep him on purpose. He just stayed. Well, you know the problem I have keeping him out. I could hardly just…ask him to leave."

Killian shook his head; Emma wasn't sure if he was disagreeing with her, or perhaps it was just that he hadn't got her to understand him yet. "And then this evening," Killian continued, "He didn't anymore. And I just…I just came over."

"So…you could smell me?" Emma asked, trying not to make it sound like something a stalker might do, and thinking to herself that she failed because it did sound completely odd and creepy.

And, also…maybe, just a little bit sweet.

Killian ran a hand through his hair and looked slightly agitated. He wasn't quite at the state he'd been in when she'd picked him up from the hospital, but he seemed to be rapidly approaching it. If anything, Emma thought, that should be a warning sign, but she didn't feel particularly worried about what Killian might do, only about how he felt.

It wasn't at all pleasant to have to stand around and watch him like this. Really, if she could have reasonably run away at that point, she was certain she would have.

Killian suddenly looked up at her, as though he'd decided to say the thing that was rolling around in his mind. "You say you're not the right person for anyone. But unless you actually try, you won't know. Maybe you are. Maybe you are someone's right person."

Emma might have been able to keep her feet in place but she didn't seem to be able to exert the same control over her tongue. The words were out of her mouth before she really had time to think. "Let me guess, you?"

She heard the biting sneer in her voice at the same time as she saw the impact it had on Killian and the regret was instant and overwhelming.

"I…alright, then. I'll leave you to it. Goodnight Emma." Killian was half-way across the street before Emma even began to think of a way to apologise for the harsh words she'd spoken, and by then it was far too late. Her words had worked, and she was no longer stuck in that difficult situation she'd been enduring a moment earlier. The price had been steep, though, and she wished she hadn't had to pay it.

Emma let herself into the house with a heavy heart and her mind elsewhere, mostly across the street. Wanting a little distance from Killian and actually forcing it to happen in this way were two entirely separate things.

She went through the motions for the rest of the evening; feeding Tinkerbell, feeding herself, and then, when Mr Smee finally appeared in the living room as she was watching TV, wondering if she should feed him. In the end the yowls were too insistent to ignore so she gave him a little cat food in the kitchen but resisted the urge to pick him up. If Mr Smee smelling of her perfume was going to prove problematic, then she could solve that problem. Easily.

It was only as she got ready for bed, and looked at herself in the bathroom mirror that she wondered if her mouth always turned down at the corners like that and whether she just hadn't noticed it so much lately.

Emma slept heavily and woke when the sun was already streaming through her thin bedroom curtains. Even for a Saturday she'd slept late. It didn't really matter because she was sorely lacking in plans for her day. She would have been content to stay in the cottage and pretend the world outside didn't exist at all, except that absentmindedly feeding Mr Smee every time he appeared, in an effort to keep him full and not within cuddling distance, had the unwanted effect of using up all the available cat food.

It wasn't an errand that could be delayed, at least, not if she didn't want to start feeding Tinkerbell from her own cans of tuna and get the cat used to a standard of living she had no way of maintaining.

There was nothing for it but for Emma to find shoes and pull a light sweater over the tank top she'd been lounging in and head into Storybrooke. A quick glance out the living room window told her Killian wasn't at home, which made walking outside the house a little easier. She wondered where he was and then felt silly for even thinking about it, although no sillier than she felt for checking the coast was clear in the first place.

The trip into town would help, no doubt. Or, at least, she had expected that it would. But when Emma got to the pet store it only took a few minutes before she was back out on the street, now clutching a large package of cat food, and feeling completely at a loss for what to do next.

Suddenly the idea of returning so quickly to the house she'd been happy to hole up in earlier in the day seemed a little too depressing. It would be better, she thought, when Killian was no longer living across the street, when he had left Storybrooke for good. Then there'd be no reminders, no wondering if she could get in and out of her house without seeing or being seen by Killian. No Mr Smee wandering in and out as though he owned the place.

That thought made her more than a little sad. And deserving of a treat.

Stowing the cat food in the trunk of her car, Emma walked down the street to  _Olaf's_  hoping that whatever Elsa had prepared that day would help fill the now rather gnawing emptiness she could feel inside her when she contemplated what life would be like without Mr Smee. And, also perhaps, Killian.

But, having picked the bakery over the ice cream store in the hope of avoiding Ingrid's questions regarding Killian, Emma hadn't taken into account the fact that Anna was standing behind the bakery counter, helping her sister out.

"Hey, Emma. You know, you're just the person we wanted to see!" Anna said brightly, and Emma was tempted to turn and run because nothing good ever happened after someone started a conversation with those words.

"Oh…uh…is that so?" Emma stuttered.

"Yep. Because I was thinking that we need pictures of Mr Smee too. Well, Elsa does. For the bakery. Because it worked so well over at Ingrid's. You know, she's nice and everything...and my aunt, but she can be a little smug. And pastries are better than ice cream."

"Are you still going on about that?" Elsa interrupted, stepping through from the back of the store.

Anna folded her arms and pouted a little. "I just don't see why we can't do it too."

"And have Mr Smee eating what exactly? Sandwiches?" Elsa placed a few loaves of bread on the rack against the wall.

"I love sandwiches!" Anna declared and Emma was worried that no one was ever going to serve her, caught up as they were in some kind of eternal sibling argument. On the one hand, Anna seemed to have forgotten that the start of all of this was Emma's arrival and she could, quite conceivably, leave. But on the other hand, she'd be leaving empty handed.

Emma weighed up the idea of interrupting and, perhaps, actually trying to order something when Anna suddenly remembered she was standing there. "Chocolate!" she said, pointing to Emma. "Chocolate's more exciting. When you take the photo you could give Mr Smee something with chocolate in it, like a croissant."

"Chocolate's bad for cats," Emma explained, and Anna screwed up her face.

"Really? Well I never want to be a cat then," she exclaimed.

"I think that changing species at your age is highly unlikely," Elsa said, laughing slightly.

"No, I don't want to change!" Anna replied, indignantly. "I just want to eat chocolate…because, you know, it's great." She turned her head towards Emma. "So, you'll do it?"

"No, I mean…he's not my cat, and uh…, Killian's not my…" She wasn't sure how to finish that sentence at all, but, luckily or unluckily depending on your point of view, Anna figured it out and her expression became one of cartoonish surprise.

"He's not your boyfriend? Aurora said he was. I guess it serves me right for listening to her." Anna sighed heavily, like she was deflating balloon.

"I did tell you not to put too much stock in the things she picks up at the hospital. In fact, I've been telling you not to listen to her for years." Elsa gave Anna a kindly look, but Emma had really lost interest in what they were saying, and even in her chances of getting a bear claw or a croissant. Mostly she was still trying very hard to pretend none of this had ever happened, because she found the whole situation mortifying. Only she couldn't figure out if the worst part was that Anna had thought Killian was her boyfriend, or the fact that he wasn't and never would be.

"We met on the first day of kindergarten, Aurora and me," Anna explained to Emma, as though filling in her own backstory was going to make amends for what had occurred. "We had the same Disney Princess lunchbox and Aurora let me braid her hair at recess. Elsa  _never_  let me braid her hair." She looked at her sister accusingly.

"Because you had sticky little hands for your entire childhood. I don't know how you did it, but it was like you'd been dipped in jelly." Elsa finally turned her attention to Emma, while Anna sighed loudly. "Sorry, it's a little distracting in here today. What can I get you?

"Bear claw. Please." Emma felt herself relax a little. Elsa's calm manner as she reached into the cabinet and pulled a bear claw out before placing it in a small box, worked to soothe Emma a little. It surprised her sometimes, never having had one, just how different siblings could be.

And Anna was very different to Elsa because, unlike her sister who had moved on to actually treating Emma like the customer she was, Anna was still trying to carry on the same conversation from earlier. "I bet he'd be a good one," she mused, looking at Emma a little slyly.

"Who? What?" Emma asked, while Elsa, who seemed to understand what Anna was saying and shot her sister a warning glance, took the cash Emma was offering across the counter to her.

"Killian. He'd be a good boyfriend. And, I mean,  _I_ would know. I've had bad boyfriends." Anna looked over at Emma, no doubt expecting sympathy or, worse, an assessment of Killian's potential suitability as a boyfriend.

If Elsa would just hand over the bear claw then she could fake some important business and just leave.

"It was  _one_  boyfriend, Anna," Elsa chided. "And you dated him for, like, a week."

"But I was  _miserable_  for that whole week." She widened her eyes dramatically. "I don't think Killian would make anyone miserable like that."

Elsa finally gave Emma the bear claw and lost her patience with her sister all in the same moment. "Anna, you need to just let it…" she stopped, suddenly, as the door of the bakery opened behind them and Emma heard someone enter. "Oh, hi Leroy," Elsa said smoothly.

Emma was torn between wanting to retreat while the coast was clear and not wanting to face Leroy. It wasn't that she thought Killian would have been exactly crying on Leroy's shoulder, it was simply that she was more than a little worried that, when it came down to it, she was the one who'd been making someone miserable.

"Hey, Elsa, Anna…Emma," Leroy said, and Emma tried not to read too much into the pause before her name. "Astrid wanted to know if you've got any of that pumpkin bread stuff…"

Emma ran, there was no other word for it. Straight out the door of the bakery and onto the street with only a brief wave in the direction of Elsa, who was luckily distracted by Leroy, and Anna, who looked a little perplexed about her abrupt departure.

And it was ridiculous. The whole thing was ridiculous. She couldn't walk around town feeling like a villain forever, could she?

No, it would be better when it was all over. When Killian and Mr Smee had left town. And there she was, right back to the start of the problem, having achieved nothing with her little detour to buy something to distract her.

In fact she was stuck so deep in her own thoughts that she almost bumped into Mary Margaret walking the other way down the street. "Emma!" she said happily.

"Oh. Hey. What're you doing?"

"Going for a walk so I don't fall asleep on the couch."

"Right. And David is?"

"Asleep on the couch." Mary Margaret gave Emma a wry look.

"OK. Well, just so you know, when he describes what goes on in your house, the story is a little different."

"Yeah. In his defence, I think I kept him up a lot of the night." Mary Margaret paused and looked sideways. "Not, you know, like  _that._  The lasagne came back to bite me in a big way. So, you wanna keep me company?"

"Uh, sure." Emma had been looking for distraction, but interaction with someone else just seemed fraught with the possibility of having to explain why she needed that distraction in the first place. After the uncomfortable moments in the bakery Emma was wary of finding herself in another situation where she felt like the villain of the piece. Or worse, just plain stupid.

But Mary Margaret seemed wrapped up in her own world, and their conversation centred mainly on the less than pleasant side-effects of pregnancy, and the upcoming trip that Mary Margaret was organising for her class and how a request for parents to accompany them had turned into a war of words between the mothers who worked outside the home and those who didn't.

"And, really," Mary Margaret said. "I don't know how any of them have the time to keep track of whose turn it is, I certainly don't. I just don't want to have to tie twenty-seven 9 year olds together because I'm the only pair of eyes watching that none of them make a break for the snack machine!"

"Sounds, uh…a little intense." By this time they had circled the block and reached the spot where Emma had parked her car.

"Yeah, it is," Mary Margaret sighed. "But you know, totally rewarding! Or, at least, that's the part I try to remind myself."

"You keep doing that." Emma unlocked the door of her car. "And, uh…thanks."

"For what?"

"For not asking why I'm moping around town buying pastries. I mean, I know you, and I know you know exactly which parent has been on which trip and you'd be able to tell the second any one of those kids took a step towards a vending machine…so, thanks for that anyway." Emma looked at the ground, a little embarrassed by suddenly feeling so overcome with gratitude for someone just keeping their nose out of her business.

"Well, I figure if you need help, you'll ask me. Or David." Mary Margaret paused. "But probably ask me. And, you know, I'm Team Emma all the way!" She raised a hand as though she was cheering Emma on. "But I think you'll be fine and, you know, figure out what you should do."

"And if I don't?"

"Then just…do what you want and hope for the best. Unless what you want is to eat your own bodyweight in lasagne when you're pregnant. Don't do that. The heartburn is a killer. But anything else…well, maybe it'll work out in the end."

"Or maybe I'll just end up dragging someone else into my misery?"

"Well, there's always that. But misery loves company!" Mary Margaret laughed. "And thanks for yours. It's hard enough dragging myself around when I'd rather be asleep. Honestly, I won't be sad to get back to being able to digest food while lying down. And bras that fit correctly. That'd be nice too." Mary Margaret peered at the front of her blouse and sighed loudly. "You take care, OK?"

"I will," Emma promised, before she climbed into the car and started the engine.

Only, she realised, as she drove towards her house and saw Killian's truck now parked prominently in the driveway of his place, she didn't really know how to take care of herself when she was still more worried about what she'd done to someone else.

Mr Smee was waiting for her on the kitchen table when she entered the cottage and Emma shared her bear claw with him. He seemed to like it, judging by the amount of time he spent licking his whiskers when he'd finished, but Emma hardly paid him any attention. Mostly she was lost in contemplation of her own situation and how'd she'd arrived at it.

The part that confused Emma the most was that she felt so awful about something she had expected to happen all along. It wasn't supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be easier, getting the goodbyes over and done with before she got her heart stomped all over.

She was supposed to come out OK this time, to look back and think that at least she'd got through it in one piece.

Emma made a decision and reached for her phone, typing out  _I have your cat_  and pushing send before she really had the chance to think about it. While she was typing Mr Smee, having judged that there were no more treats on offer, jumped down off the table and disappeared out the cat door with a scrabble of his back paws.

Emma cursed quietly, now feeling not only nervous, but realising she was about to be proved a liar to boot. Or worse, she wouldn't even get the chance. Perhaps she'd used all her chances up?

The knock on the front door was loud, and served as a painful reminder that they seemed to have gone past the coming around to the back door stage of the relationship…friendship…whatever the hell it had been.

Emma took a deep breath and walked down to the hall to open the front door, steeling herself for trying to make some amends to Killian. But although he was on the doorstep, the first person…well, cat through the door was Mr Smee who ran over Emma's foot in his haste to get back into the house he'd only just left.

"You do now," Killian commented, and Emma lifted her eyes from watching Mr Smee's tail disappearing down the hallway.

"What now?"

"Have my cat. Have you, by any chance, purchased a phone for Mr Smee and did you send him a text as well?"

"No, he just…ran around the house…" Emma said, feeling a little on the defensive.

This was so not how she had hoped this would go.

"Well. I take it I am to go and retrieve him now, before he buggers off again. Alright if I come in…?" It was hard not to notice the slight bite to Killian's words, the smile that looked like it had been forced onto his face, and, worst of all, the pause at the end of that sentence where he clearly held back from adding 'love' to his words.

"Um, yep. Sure." Emma stepped aside to let Killian go past. "But, uh, you can leave Mr Smee…he probably needs a nap now. He just had…some bear claw. So he's full." She shrugged and watched Killian step inside the cottage, looking wary and not at all like he'd been all but living there just 48 hours earlier.

He stopped near the door to the living room and turned to look at Emma, raising his eyebrows. "Yeah, uh. Just go through." She gestured to the door and felt totally unprepared to do any of the things she'd thought about. It was tempting, as Killian disappeared into the other room, to just high-tail it down the hall and out the back door and pretend that none of this was happening.

But she didn't think that falling into old habits was going to fix any of problems. Sure, it'd be nice for about ten minutes, but then she'd be left skulking around town, disliking her own company and hiding from Leroy.

It wasn't an idea she exactly relished.

Emma found Killian in the living room watching as Mr Smee circled his blanket on the chair several times, apparently in an attempt to make it more comfortable. Emma would have turned in a circle herself if she could have made her encounter with Killian anything other than downright uncomfortable.

"So…?" Killian asked, turning when he realised Emma was behind him.

"Yes. I just wanted to apologise for last night. For being so blunt. I didn't mean to be."

Killian looked thoughtful, and ran a tongue over his bottom lip. "But did you mean it?" he asked.

"Mean to be hurtful? No, I didn't." Emma's voice was small, but her embarrassment felt like a weight pressing on her chest.

"But the words?" Killian looked at her intently. "You…there's nothing? No chance?"

"I can't," Emma pleaded. She had hoped that they would just bypass any dissection of what had happened and go back to being friends…friendly…whatever it had been when Killian would come over and keep her company and make her feel special. And it was selfish, and she knew it was selfish, but she just wanted him back. "I did mean that part. I don't do the whole…getting to know each other, falling in…well, whatever. Romance. I am not cut out for it. I am not the right person for that."

She had expected another rejection after that speech, that Killian would realise she still couldn't offer him what he wanted, and he would leave. But he looked thoughtful for a moment and then, completely against all her expectations, he smiled. A genuine smile this time.

"Emma. What exactly did you think was happening when I was here?"

"Obviously something completely different to what you thought." Emma felt a little put out by the way he was smiling at her, like there was some great secret that only he was privy to, and Emma being slow on the uptake was endlessly amusing.

"No. I mean, you say you don't do getting to know someone, but, Emma…love, that's exactly what was going on here. I know that you have a terrible soft spot for Mr Smee and would never deny him any comfort, even though I'm pretty sure he's the source of that smell that's wafting around in here now. I know that you are not a morning person, and you can't hold a conversation until you've had coffee. I know that you don't like watching police shows because you think the characters are far too interested in romance, but judging from your DVD collection you prefer movies that have a happy ending above all others. I know that you can out-eat me, especially when it comes to Yorkshire puddings, and I know that you're a good person who deserves her own happy ending."

"I don't…you don't  _know_  me," Emma protested because the woman he'd described, the one he sounded so fond of, that couldn't be her.

"Emma. I just wanted the chance to get to know you better." She locked eyes with Killian and they just stood there, neither one moving or saying anything else. The smell was quite bad, she had to admit, but her foremost problem was not the fact that cinnamon clearly didn't agree with Mr Smee. She felt trapped, not by Killian, but by her own inability to believe the things he was saying to her.

And then all of a sudden, at the point when Killian shuffled his feet and glanced over at Mr Smee, clearly looking at a way to extricate himself from a difficult situation, she felt it. It was only a small crack, not much to speak of really, but it was enough for her to think that perhaps the wall she'd put up in her heart wasn't as much of an impediment to happiness as she thought it had been.

Maybe Killian had even been right, and it just took the right person.

"That thing with the tea is weird," she said, in the end, and Killian switched his gaze back to her. "I don't understand why it has to lurk around the kitchen for so long. Plus, you snore. You definitely do, and I know this because…" Emma paused and took a deep breath. "You fell asleep in the hospital when I was talking to you."

"I think we've been over this already, love," Killian said, not unkindly, but certainly curiously.

"Yep. But what I left out is that I did tell you something when you were asleep, something you missed. I said that I wanted to kiss you."

Now that it was out in the open Emma felt a little lighter, less weighed down by the ridiculous situation she'd somehow found herself in, and the sneaking suspicion that it was all her own doing. It felt good to be able to hand some of the responsibility for digging them out of the hole to Killian.

"And do you? Still?" he asked, looking at Emma intently.

It was tempting to fall back into the old patterns, to give him an answer that only skirted the truth. One that was playful or overly flirtatious; one that suggested she might consider it, but under certain circumstances only.

But she knew that would just bring back the weight, pressing on her chest again. And so she opted for the truth. "Yes."

This, Emma thought, was the part where Killian would actually kiss her. But he didn't, instead he took a step closer and then hesitated, his hands dropping to his sides.

For a brief moment Emma felt the old pangs of rejection welling up through her pores. Of course he wouldn't want her now, of course he was probably going to scoop up Mr Smee and go home and not even look back.

But he didn't move and, suddenly, Emma was struck with the idea that Killian was just as paralysed by fear as she was. He hid it well, but it was there when she took the time to look. The way he ran a tongue over his bottom lip, the twist of his hand at his side, the absolute concentration he maintained on her face, watching for her reaction to all of this.

He'd been hurt just as badly as she had; perhaps even worse. And yet, up until now, at least, he'd been the brave one.

Perhaps it was her turn.

Emma took a step forward, closing the distance between them and then she placed a hand on the back of Killian's neck, pulling him the rest of the way towards her. She felt his lips touch hers, tentatively at first, and then opening in response when she pressed more ardently.

And it was a good kiss, Emma had to admit that. She'd been right when she'd felt that she would enjoy kissing Killian properly. His lips were warm and soft and the contrast to the scratch of his whiskers against her cheek set her heart pounding in her chest in a way that she hadn't even known it was capable of.

Most importantly, Killian knew what to do with his tongue and did it well. So well that Emma wasn't even certain at what point she had pressed herself even closer to him, trying to find something that might relieve the rather desperate desire for Killian to touch her that had started to rise from low in her belly, sending a shock through every nerve ending in her body.

Emma's hand stroked the back of Killian's neck, almost as though she was soothing him, at the same time as she tilted her head when he started to place kisses, hot and insistent, behind her ear and down the slope of her neck.

He tangled a hand in the hair that hung loose down her back and the other traced the curve above her hip, pushing up the hem of her t-shirt. She shivered at the contact, the feeling of his fingers on her bare skin, and it seemed to egg him on. In a move that could almost have been choreographed, Emma suddenly felt the back of the sofa against her lower back as she was pressed up against it.

Suddenly it wasn't just a kiss, it was the beginning of something else entirely. Emma pulled back, a little, and Killian lifted his head and looked at her, his eyes dark and full of an odd mixture of concern and desire. "I don't want to leave you, Emma. If that's what you're worried about."

It wasn't the same as promising to never leave her, but perhaps it was better not to force a promise that might be broken. Maybe she would take this for what it was and, just for once, not go looking for the fly in the ointment.

Maybe she was just really, really turned on right now.

"OK so, uh, bedroom then," Emma said, quickly, before she chickened out. And then, after a deft side step she led the way down the hallway to her own room. If Mr Smee thought that they left the living room in an obscene hurry he didn't let them know.

In the bedroom Emma started to feel a little shy about the haste with which she had dragged Killian in here, although it did little to dampen her desire. And certainly, when he put his arms around her and kissed her again, she felt as though she might explode if she stopped now.

Emma had expected that, perhaps, she'd feel a little differently with Killian. That in the presence of someone she genuinely cared about her desire might be more restrained. But that was hardly the case.

If anything she felt bolder and more eager to please. She pulled her own t-shirt over her head, and watched, fascinated, as Killian traced the outer edge of her bra with one finger. His touch was teasing rather than tentative, and she pressed forward greedily, hoping for more.

She got her wish when Killian pulled the cups of her bra down and pressed his palms against her hardened nipples. Emma unclasped her bra and pulled it off altogether, and then began work on ridding Killian of some of his own clothing.

But, when she removed the shirt and t-shirt he was wearing, the bruises that hadn't healed yet were clearly visible and some of her desire was replaced with concern.

"Is this going to be too much for you?" she asked.

"Love, I'm sure I'll survive." He leaned close, which was rather distracting when his chest hair brushed against her nipples. "And if you really wear me out," he whispered hoarsely into her ear. "I can always let you ice it later."

"OK," Emma agreed, feeling increasingly inclined to just forget about Killian's ribs and concentrate more on other parts of him altogether. She ran a finger across his collarbone and dipped a fingertip into the hollow at the base of his throat, before allowing her hands to roam further over his chest.

And then she followed the path traced by her hands with her mouth, enjoying the taste of his skin and the way his hands cradled the back of her head as she explored him thoroughly, finishing with a few gentle kisses to the places still discoloured by bruises.

"Emma," Killian murmured, as she lifted her head and his mouth found hers again. "Emma…love…"

But Emma wasn't really interested in talking right then, she was far more intent on figuring out how best to remove the rest of Killian's clothing, quickly followed by her own. Killian seemed to catch her drift and helped out by taking off his jeans and boots, while Emma pushed down the yoga pants she was wearing, along with her underwear, and dropped them somewhere on the floor.

Laying back on the bed Emma grabbed Killian's hand and pulled him down beside her. She ran a hand down his chest, his abdomen and stroked the outline of his erection through his underwear, enjoying the appreciative sound that rumbled through his chest at her touch. It made her feel powerful and beautiful and a hundred other things that all added up to something that made her blood pump a little faster and her nerves jangle and an ache build between her legs that she desperately wanted to satisfy.

She leaned over and opened the nightstand, pulling out the small foil packet containing a condom. "Don't, uh, take this the wrong way." She held it out to Killian.

He smiled as he took it from her hand. "I think I will take that as a very good sign, love."

And Emma took the fact that he began kissing her again, pushing her back into the mattress while his hand ran down her side, drawing circles across her hip and her stomach as a very good sign, too. She shifted, slightly, angling her hips up and encouraging his hand on, towards the place she was desperate to be touched and Killian chuckled, the sound vibrating where his lips were pressed against her collarbone. "You're eager," he murmured.

"Yep." Emma sounded breathless and needy, even to her own ears.

"That's certainly gratifying to hear, love."

Emma briefly marvelled at his ability to use so many words to express himself, but then quickly lost interest when his mouth encircled her nipple and his hand began exploring just how eager she was, stroking lightly between her legs and finding her slick and warm with desire. Most of her thoughts could now be expressed by only one or two words;  _Yes_  and  _more_ and  _Killian_  being the ones she found most appropriate. She wasn't even aware if she said them aloud or if they were just her own mind's soundtrack to the wealth of other sensations coursing through her.

She rolled her hips and pressed harder against Killian's hand, spreading her legs further as he pushed one finger gently inside of her.

Then she lost herself utterly, and any words in her mind were replaced with the feel of his hand and his mouth, her body pulled tighter and tighter with every moment. And when the tension reached its peak she tipped over into a shiver of pleasure that touched every point in her body and left her feeling boneless and satisfied.

Killian's mouth returned to hers, kissing her urgently now. "How're you holding up?" she asked, wondering if the ribs were bothering him at all.

"Yes," he murmured into her neck. "Up, very up."

Emma giggled happily, amused more than she thought she should be by Killian's sudden change from verbose to nonsensical, but she decided to help him out by trying to push his underwear off with her feet, although it wasn't as easy as it sounded and in the end she abandoned the strategy and let Killian deal with them himself.

When he was naked she lay on her side and reached down and wrapped a hand around his erection, stroking slowly and enjoying the resulting groan that echoed in Killian's throat and the way his hips began to thrust into her hand.

Killian muttered, something tense and incoherent that Emma couldn't catch, and then pulled back and tore open the condom packet. She took it out of his hand before rolling it on as smoothly as she could and then she really didn't have much chance to think because suddenly Killian was right there, rolling them over so her back was on the bed. He settled between her legs and, with one hard press of his hips against hers he was inside her and the ache between her legs dulled, but only a little and soon it was replaced by a new ache because she just wanted him to  _move_.

"I think…it works better…if you move a little…" Emma said, prodding Killian's leg with her foot.

He groaned into her neck in response, a sound that only served to make her need all the more urgent. "Love, you'll be the death of me yet."

"Uh-huh. OK." Emma shifted her hips a little and tried another prod of her foot.

"Although maybe death by Emma Swan isn't such a bad way to go."

"I could make it worth your while." Emma wriggled a little, attempting to create the friction she so badly wanted herself.

"I'm sure you could." Killian chuckled, before he pressed himself forward a little, lifting Emma's knee up with his hand as he did so. And then, he drew back and Emma could feel the long, slow drag quickly followed by the exquisite sensation of him pushing back in.

Killian mumbled something she didn't catch and didn't want to answer anyway. Talking seemed like it would require more brain power than she currently had to spare. But while her mind felt clouded and dull, her body had sprung to life, every nerve ending firing in unison as Killian thrust, faster now, finding a rhythm that was both pleasing and torturous, never quite enough to get her to where she wanted to be.

And Emma felt like she was definitely heading towards an ending, a very happy one, although perhaps it wasn't the happy ending that everyone was fond of telling her she deserved. At that moment she'd take what she could get, what Killian's body could give hers, and she wasn't going to worry about a damn thing other than what was happening now.

Emma wrapped her leg higher around Killian's hips, and clung to the warm, damp skin of his back. It felt good to be so close to someone, close to Killian, even. He wrapped an arm behind her shoulders and dropped down, kissing her in a way that sloppy and hungry and oh so much of a turn-on.

Hips pushing up to meet his thrusts Emma returned the kisses, and then pressed her face into his shoulder and just allowed her body to take over. She felt as though the building tension was stretching her almost to breaking point. Her legs fell away from Killian's back, muscles tensed and toes pointed and then, with a shudder, she came.

For a moment, Killian stopped moving, lifting his head from her neck and rising up on his hands. Emma opened her eyes and found him watching her carefully, blue eyes dark and hooded.

"Not dead yet," she mumbled.

"Good." He began moving again, purposefully at first and then, as the pace picked up and Emma re-connected her joints enough to plant her feet on the mattress and start to move with him, the movements became erratic, his muscles tense and strained.

Emma pressed harder, urging him silently to let go, and he did. His hips jerked and Emma watched the muscles in his neck pull like bowstrings, before he pressed his body down onto hers and she was flooded with a sense of warmth and something that could really only be described as tenderness.

She really was fond of Killian. And awfully glad they'd done this. And she probably wouldn't be averse to doing it again sometime.

"I'm sorry, love. Am I crushing you?" Killian's voice, a deep rumble of concern, broke Emma from her thoughts about how amazing orgasms were.

"Nope. I'm good. How are the ribs?"

"I believe I'll hold together. And even if I don't, I'm in no doubt that it was utterly worth it."

"Oh. Well, as long as you're OK."

Killian gave her a somewhat reassuring smile as he pushed up on his hands with only a small wince to give himself away. Then he withdrew from her, and she watched him disappear from the bedroom and felt strangely bereft.

Emma didn't really know what she should do next, only that she wasn't prepared to leave the bed just yet. In fact, she pulled back the comforter and burrowed underneath it, feeling warm and sated and a little drowsy, as though the tension she'd carried around for the past couple of days had suddenly drained away, leaving her deflated and lacking in substance.

Quite what she was going to replace it with, she hadn't decided yet.

She purposely didn't look at the bedroom door, not even when she heard the footsteps approaching, and she kept her eyes resolutely on the wall, right up until the point where she felt Killian pull back the comforter and then suddenly he was all she could see, sharing her pillow, noses almost touching.

He reached out and touched a strand of her hair that was sticking to her shoulder. "Are you worried I might have shed all over you?" she asked him.

"Nope. Not in the slightest." His fingers continued to twist around the hair, but other than that they didn't touch each other, just lay there, naked, an inch or two apart. It seemed incredibly intimate to Emma, perhaps even more intimate than the things they'd been doing just minutes before.

Killian rolled over to lie on his back and stretched languidly, lifting both arms over his head. "You know," Emma said, propping herself up on one elbow and facing him. "When Mr Smee does that move, it usually means I'm supposed to rub his belly."

"Well, I wouldn't say no, love." Killian smiled, broadly, and he looked boyish and handsome and, Emma realised, happy.

"Hmm," she said, thoughtfully, reaching out and walking her fingers across his chest, following the trail of dark hair that continued down towards his abdomen. "I suppose you haven't been yowling or making a nuisance of yourself."

"No, I think I've been very restrained." Emma chuckled, and leaned over further, putting her head on his chest and continuing to run a finger across Killian's stomach, lightly brushing the skin there, while his hand came up to stroke her head once again. She felt warm and drowsy and thought perhaps she'd close her eyes for just a minute.

Unsure of how long she'd been dozing, or really, how deep her sleep had been, the next sound Emma heard were the far-off wails of a hungry Mr Smee, who had obviously woken from his own nap and thought that dinner should be on offer. She didn't feel inclined to get out of bed and immediately help him, though. She was far happier where she was.

It was only the sound of Killian suddenly yelping, as she felt him jerk underneath her head that roused her more fully. "Bloody bugger off, Mr Smee," he growled, and Emma's eyes opened to find that Mr Smee had tracked down their location and, from the way Killian was now shaking his hand, had sent a very clear message about how disappointed he was in their lax attitudes to dinner time.

"I suppose he's hungry." Emma sat up a little further, and Mr Smee stopped glaring at Killian and squinted in her direction, before he cranked out the beginning of a purr.

"He's always bloody hungry," Killian grumbled. "But he doesn't normally announce the fact with his teeth. I think, love, that he is less than thrilled to find me in his place."

Emma wasn't entirely certain how she felt about that statement, particularly the idea that either Mr Smee or Killian had ongoing rights to her bed. She'd been enjoying the moment up until then, but this made her feel unbalanced and she replied with the first thing she thought of, driven by a sudden need to remind herself that this was all temporary.

"Well really it's Tinkerbell's place," she said. "I mean, you know. She's the one who lives here."

"Ah, of course, love. We're both interlopers." Killian gave her a tight smile that was utterly unlike the way he'd been smiling before and Emma felt a lead weight suddenly appear in her chest again.

She wanted a way to undo what she'd just said, a rewind button that would enable her to choose her words again, this time worrying more about Killian than herself. But it didn't seem to matter what good things happened to her, it was still painfully obvious that she was a selfish, broken person.

Emma thought that she wouldn't be at all surprised if Killian announced that he had some place to be, and she braced herself for the inevitable. But he ran a hand across his face and sighed, before turning to glare at Mr Smee again. "I suppose I had better get you fed then," he said to the cat and she watched as he swung his legs out of bed, before standing up and looking for his clothes on the bedroom floor.

Mr Smee, keeping a close eye on Killian, moved to stand at the bottom of the bed, poised to leave for the kitchen at any moment, but not quite prepared to go ahead in case no one followed and he found the bedroom door shut behind him.

Emma rolled back to her back and contemplated the ceiling, staring at the blank white space until all of a sudden it disappeared, replaced with Killian's face close to hers. "If you don't get up Mr Smee might eat everything. I cannot guarantee you won't miss out, and I know you're not fond of that, love."

"What? Oh. OK." Emma felt a little flustered, and the feeling was only enhanced by the blatantly appraising glance Killian gave her as she stood up, still naked, and began the process of getting dressed herself. Killian had put on underwear and t-shirt but had left the rest of his clothes strewn on the floor of her bedroom, and she carefully moved them out of the way to locate her own, or, at least, enough of them so she was mostly covered anyway. She probably wouldn't need a bra, she figured, pulling on a tank-top and her yoga pants.

Killian was already in the kitchen when she got there, pouring cat food into a bowl for Mr Smee who was doing a slightly manic dance around Killian's feet. "I was thinking bacon and eggs, if that's alright with you?" he said, and it wasn't until Killian lifted his eyes from Mr Smee, which in Emma's opinion greatly increased the chances of the cat being stood on, that Emma realised that the question was addressed to her and not to Mr Smee at all.

"OK. Sure." The sex had been enjoyable but, Emma had to admit, it would be really easy to get used to someone feeding her on a regular basis. She could totally understand the reason Mr Smee hung out with humans who could be tricked into doing the same thing.

She offered to help, but Killian waved her away and seemed far more competent on his own. Emma was relegated to watching that Mr Smee didn't get in the way too much and feeding Tinkerbell when she appeared in the kitchen, glancing suspiciously from Emma to Killian, and then meowing, querulously, as though she was uncertain of whether Emma's judgement was really sound.

Emma, who was almost as entranced by the smell of the bacon as Mr Smee, wasn't in the mood to be judged by Tinkerbell and shoved a bowl of cat food under her nose quickly hoping that'd buy her off.

"I might do toast, too," Killian said, side-stepping an anxious looking Mr Smee. Emma wondered if there was such a thing as anxiety medication for cats because surely being that on edge couldn't be good for him, not at his age.

"But don't request pancakes," Killian continued, looking over his shoulder at Emma.

"Um. OK. Why?"

"Because I can't abide the thought of sticky syrup all over the bacon, love. I just…brown sauce, yes. Syrup, definitely not."

"Wow. You are  _so_  foreign."

Killian chuckled. "I think you'll find it's the other way around."

"Uh, nope. Pretty sure that on this soil, you're the odd one out."

"You are a very cruel woman, Emma Swan," Killian said, placing two plates of food on the table. "But luckily I am still very fond of you."

Emma felt a little flummoxed at that, torn between wanting to respond with something appropriate and just plain shovelling as much bacon into her mouth as she could. In the end she opted for "That's uh…nice. And the food looks good too," before she broke off a chunk of bacon and threw it to Mr Smee, who let it bounce off his nose before retrieving it from the floor.

"He's not a dog, love. Although, he is as devoted to you as any Labrador might be."

"You think? Mostly I suspect he's just here for the food. If you'd stayed home and cooked bacon there, he probably would have been just as happy in your kitchen."

"Ah, but then you would have missed out, and that would have been a shame."

"Yeah. And I…" Emma wanted to say  _would have missed you_ , but as the words got to the tip of her tongue, she just plain chickened out. It felt a little too much, after everything that had happened that afternoon. She wasn't going to tempt fate, she was just going to look for the good in the moments she was having.

And sex and bacon, you couldn't go wrong with that, could you?

"I would be very hungry, then," Emma finished, and from the way Killian looked at her across the table she wondered if he realised just how much she wasn't telling him outright.

"Good thing you're willing to share so generously with Mr Smee then, isn't it?" Killian resumed buttering his toast.

"Well, I assume that's why you gave me the most bacon. So I could pass it around." She threw another piece to Mr Smee, and one to Tinkerbell, who looked horrified and retreated out the cat door, leaving Mr Smee to clean up after her.

"Mmm, yes. Because I envisioned you just throwing it around the kitchen."

"Well. Welcome to America!"

Killian laughed and Emma joined in and Mr Smee's yowl was probably a demand for more flying bacon, but it sounded happy enough. And Emma was, she realised, happy. More to the point it was a feeling she recognised from other times she'd sat in the kitchen with Killian, other meals they'd shared. It had a particular flavour, a texture, and it was all wrapped up with Killian himself.

And, most surprising of all, it lasted right through their rather odd little dinner of breakfast food and carried on into their attempts to watch television in the living room, chaperoned by a rather grumpy Mr Smee, who couldn't seem to settle in his usual chair, but instead spent a lot of time clambering shakily over Emma and Killian as they sat on the sofa, Killian swearing softly each time Mr Smee passed by again. It was an entertaining power struggle, although eventually Mr Smee showed his age and he fell asleep on his chair, snoring loudly.

Emma was tempted to give up and rest her head against Killian when she remembered his ribs, and suggested she get the ice. Killian dismissed the idea, although she did manage to get him to agree to take some of the pain pills he'd left behind in the bathroom. "I didn't do that on purpose, love," he said, a little sheepishly. "I was just…uh. Perhaps a little distracted when I packed up."

"So what have you been taking? Have you been taking anything?"

"I've been getting by…although if you want to offer to hold me between your thighs again to make sure I take them…I may not be completely averse to the idea." He grinned, somewhat lasciviously.

"Uh-huh. Well, let's save that for later then, and just worry about the pills for now."

"Alright then, love. It's a date."

On her way to the bathroom to get them she realised that she'd, once again, agreed to something without quite realising she was doing it. But then she caught sight of her reflection in the bathroom mirror and, despite the definite sex-hair and the fact that one eye had mascara smudged underneath it, the thing that drew her attention the most was the fact her mouth had an entirely different shape now. One that didn't turn down at the corners.

And she didn't really mind about what she might have promised to do to Killian later. In fact she was kind of looking forward to it.

Later came sooner than expected, or, rather, Killian showed no inclination to take the forgotten pain pills and return to the cottage he was renting. Instead Emma found that as the evening wore on he became more affectionate, perhaps due to a combination of tiredness and comfort with his surroundings, perhaps just because he wanted to. Either way, she was happy to just take the kisses and the fingers trying to find their way inside her waistband in the same way that Tinkerbell was never likely to turn down a scratch behind the ear if there was one on offer, even though she had no reason to suspect that there wouldn't be more in her future.

Emma's expectations of life weren't quite so confident, but she still knew a good thing when she had it. And it looked as though she had Killian for the whole night, her suggestion that they move back to the bedroom rather readily accepted and if he was feeling any pain in his ribs he wasn't admitting to it.

Killian's eagerness was appealing. And so were some of the other things he was offering. This time, when they reached Emma's bed they were quicker to shed their clothes, but slower and more deliberate in their touches. Killian's hands were more purposeful than they had been in the living room, and he appeared to be cataloguing her response to every light stroke or firm pressure he applied.

And then, when Emma thought that she would burst if the needy ache blossoming between her thighs wasn't satisfied, he began to trace the same path across her torso with his mouth. After what seemed to Emma an agonizingly long time he reached the place she most needed contact, lips and tongue creating sensations that sent Emma into a toe-curling orgasm that once again loosened something inside of her, and left it to rattle around in her chest like a loose screw. It was just a fleeting thought really, and one that she probably shouldn't pay much attention to given her condition at the time.

_Orgasms do that, don't they? Make you think you're in love._

Later on, when they were they were both sated and sleepy, Emma felt Killian's lips on her neck, his arm around her waist and surprisingly, the feeling was still there. Maybe it was even a little stronger. Maybe she even believed it would still be there in the morning, and so would Killian.

At any other time she would have found this line of thinking odd. Orgasms were one thing, but orgasm-induced stupidity was something Emma prided herself on being able to avoid quite happily. But she couldn't muster the energy to think about it properly. Not when she was warm and content and her bed didn't seem quite as empty as it usually did.

And neither did her heart.

**Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

Emma woke up with a familiar weight resting against her ankle, but, under the covers, her feet were pressed against something less familiar.  She rubbed her toe against Killian’s calf, and slowly opened her eyes to face him.

“’morning, love.”  His voice was deepened by sleep, but it sent a small thrill racing down Emma’s spine all the same and she spoke before she’d really had time to think it through.

“Am I your love?”

Killian didn’t hesitate.  “Yes.”

“Good.”

Pleasantries out of the way Emma studied Killian a little more closely.  The outline of his head on the pillow opposite her was fuzzy without the benefit of her glasses or contact lenses, and it took a few moments to make some sense out of what she was seeing.  “Nice hat.”

Killian leaned towards Emma, and Tinkerbell’s tail flicked his ear in annoyance.  “Thank you.  It’s a little warm, but I think as she’s been gracious enough to share her sleeping space with me, I shouldn’t be so uncouth as to complain outright.”

“So how long have you been lying there with a cat on your head?”

“A while.  I didn’t want to disturb you though, love.”

“Or Tinkerbell.”

“Well, perhaps.”  Killian shuffled even closer so he could whisper the next part, as though it was a huge secret.  “She does have claws.”

Emma sniggered and Tinkerbell, no doubt taking offence, stood up, stretched and then walked heavily over Killian’s side and down the bed where she encountered Mr Smee, hissed loudly, waking the other cat up, and jumped off the bed.

Mr Smee, now clearly expecting breakfast, followed her out of the room.

Weirdly, Emma felt a little shy now that bed only contained Killian and herself.  She might be Killian’s love, but she was completely at a loss as to what that entailed.  One night stands and men who were planning to leave you when something better turned up didn’t exactly stick around long enough to be offered breakfast.

And they’d already had breakfast for dinner the night before. 

“Do you, uh…do you have plans?” Killian asked, his hand reaching over to toy with her hair. 

“No…” Emma said, slowly, wondering if Killian was trying to let her know he wanted to leave.  “I mean, it’s Sunday.”

“And someone who is not a morning person doesn’t want to get up and face the day if she doesn’t have to.”

“Exactly.”  Emma nodded as emphatically as she could from her prone position. 

Killian leaned over and kissed her, normally something that Emma would shy away from in the morning, not just because she was concerned over her breath, but because she had no desire to receive any sign of affection she wasn’t going to return.

The fact that this wasn’t a qualm she felt about Killian wasn’t something Emma was going to spend time dissecting, any more than she wanted to examine her own response to Killian’s confirmation that she was his love, or her need to question him about it in the first place.

It was a freedom that Emma hadn’t often allowed herself, and she might have taken the time to enjoy it, if there weren’t some rather pressing matters to attend to.  “I, um…I’ll be right back.  Bathroom.”  Emma pulled away and sat up, almost glad that her slightly-blurred view of the world meant she didn’t have to pay attention to the finer details of Killian’s, presumably, disappointed expression.

But she could only cope with the world being fuzzy at the edges for so long and, after managing to locate her robe on the closet door, she had to admit defeat and retrace her steps back towards the bed where her glasses were set carefully on her nightstand.  Once they were safely on and the world was a sharper place she risked a glance in Killian’s direction which revealed that he was smiling rather than frowning at her.

And then his expression softened even further and Emma felt a little jolt of her own, something she decided was best covered up with a joke.  “Oh!  It’s you.  That’s…unexpected.”

There was a pause, and Emma held her breath waiting to see if Killian would play along or if, at this late stage, she’d blown it.  But he simply smiled lazily before replying.  “Well, now you’ve got your specs on Mr Smee will be pleased that his tail is no longer in danger.”

“I can’t be held responsible if he decides to get underfoot.”  Almost on cue, Mr Smee yowled from somewhere out in the hallway.

“Well, maybe I could be persuaded to deal to the rather persistent Mr Smee so that you can make it to the bathroom and back unmolested.”

“And back?” Emma looked over at where Killian was sprawled in bed.

“I’m assuming I get rewarded for my efforts, love.”

“We’ll see.”  Emma gave what she hoped was an enigmatic shrug and then turned to leave, but couldn’t keep up the act as the sound of Killian actually moving the bedcovers made her look back over her shoulder and, worse, he caught her in the act of doing so and raised one eyebrow rather pointedly.

“I put my glasses on for a reason.  I get to look if I want to.”

“Anything you say, love.”

Emma left the room to the sound of Killian chuckling but her time in the bathroom was punctuated by the sound of his curses coming from the kitchen.  “Just move your bloody arse and bugger off, Mr Smee!”

Perhaps she was being a little conceited about the whole thing, but Emma liked to think that Killian’s frustration with his cat was partly due to his desire to get back to bed and claim his reward from her.  And if those thoughts made Emma linger a while in the bathroom, making sure that her hair was brushed and her teeth clean and wiping stray globs of mascara out of the corners of her eyes, then she wasn’t going to apologise for that any more than she’d apologise for staring at Killian as he got out of bed.

Still, she hadn’t expected that enthusiasm to mean he was finished in the kitchen and now standing right outside the bathroom door as she opened it to leave.  Worse, she blurted out “Shit, you’re there,” before she could stop herself.

Killian had put his hands out to stop her just walking straight over the top of him, and it was suddenly a little overwhelming being this close again, wearing only a bathrobe while he had, at least, managed to locate his underwear but hadn’t progressed any further with getting dressed.  Although the bruises from the accident still blossomed blue-black across his skin, they didn’t detract from the sight of a practically naked Killian.  Emma realised that maybe he wasn’t the only one anxious to get back to the bedroom.

“Should I start adopting Mr Smee’s defence protocol and announce my presence with some sort of yowl, love?

“No.  What?  No, you’re fine.  Just, uh…you’re lurking.  Don’t lurk and I won’t run into you.” 

It sounded grumpy, what she’d said and, really, she was lucky that Killian didn’t seem to take it that way.  In fact he smiled despite the reprimand he’d almost been given and replied.  “I’m not lurking.  I’m _queuing_.  I’m very good at queuing.  It’s a cultural thing.”

“I don’t think I was in there long enough for a queue to form,” Emma scoffed, forgetting for a moment about her haste to return to the bedroom. 

“Well, it’s just lucky that I’m a very patient person, isn’t it?”  With that he kissed her, effectively stopping any further discussion on the point for the moment.  Emma wasn’t unduly upset by this, and might have been persuaded to investigate the possibility of staying in the hallway instead of making an increasingly unnecessary move back to the bedroom, but Killian pulled back and stepped through the bathroom door and Emma was left feeling a little hot and bothered and all alone.

And she wasn’t going to stand around in a queue waiting for Killian to finish.

As it was she felt ridiculous enough just trying to figure out what she was meant to do once she reached the bedroom.  Lurking seemed to really be the only option, although sitting on the bed wondering about what was going to happen next simply let all the doubts creep up on her.

But she didn’t want to go down that road again; it was exhausting and ever so slightly embarrassing being subject to a constant voice in her head that told her not to get used to everything feeling so right.  And when Killian came back to the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him, she attempted to cover up her confusion with a joke. 

“So you decided not to form a queue at the bedroom door then?”

“No, I decided that the best course of action was to get in here and claim my reward before Mr Smee or Tinkerbell require second breakfast and a queue forms for that.”  Killian sat on the opposite side of the bed and looked at her, far too seriously for Emma’s liking and she decided to focus on the comforter instead. 

“You didn’t have to…you don’t have to hang around if you’ve got better things to do than worry about feeding my cat.  And your cat.  But you could do that at your place I guess.”  As soon as the words were out of her mouth Emma was aware of the fact she’d managed to change the mood in the room with just couple of sentences, and not in any way for the better.

“The kitchen across the road is nuclear-accident orange Emma.  It’s utterly alarming.  I think I like it here better.   And I know I’d rather be with you.”

Despite the sincerity of Killian’s words, Emma felt the doubts starting to well up again.  It was as though the domestic harmony they’d somehow found themselves in that morning was simply a scab over the wound of everything that could potentially go wrong, every way she’d fail Killian again.  Emma had to resist the very real temptation to question Killian further, to push him until he broke down and admitted it wasn’t really the truth.  Distraction was paramount, before she blurted out something she couldn’t ever take back.  “So…reward then?”

Killian may have looked at her a little quizzically, but he didn’t protest when she reached over and pushed his shoulder, getting him to lie back down on the bed and then hovered over him, making the most of the moment.

And while she had perhaps intended to distract Killian, she ended up doing a mighty fine job of distracting herself along the way.  At first the mood was a little playful and Emma ran her fingers over his chest, tracing the outline of the hair that grew there, making an attempt to see if he was ticklish and trying to avoid accidentally poking a bruise in the process.

But something about the way in which Killian didn’t squirm and twist away from her like Emma had expected made the situation become rapidly more serious.   Now Emma was far more interested in figuring out exactly what would make Killian react in the best way possible.  She kissed his neck, across his shoulders, down his chest and started to follow the trail of hair that led down his abdomen, before veering sideways in order to run the point of her tongue across the point of his hipbone.

Her ministrations caused Killian to shift his hips and Emma heard a groan fall from his mouth, while she smiled against the warmth of his skin.  Having someone to share the chores with was all very well but there was nothing quite like the feeling of having this kind of control over someone else.

Only it wasn’t just control.  If she had been solely concerned with that, then perhaps Emma would have spent more time thinking about how best to work Killian into such a state that all he could do was beg. 

But right at that moment, despite the fact she was teasing Killian by repeatedly toying with the waistband of his underwear and then moving away to kiss his thigh, or nose at his neck, or run her tongue across a nipple, Emma was actually far more interested in observing what pleasure Killian was getting out of her actions. 

And if Emma thought it was strange how well she was starting to read Killian, how she could tell, without him giving her more than just a groan or a shift of his hips, his legs restless and his hand coming to twist in her hair, which of her touches pleased him the most, what actions were worth repeating just to hear Killian moan his response somewhere above her head, it didn’t make any of it less enjoyable as far as she was concerned.

The noises he made were mostly nonsensical, but as soon as Emma finally relented and placed her mouth on the hard bulge straining against the fabric of his underwear the words became a little clearer; “Please, Emma.”  Gratification flooded Emma’s veins at the open confirmation of his need.  This may have been his reward, but it wasn’t to say that she couldn’t have her fun, too. 

Emma tapped Killian on the side, sitting up onto her haunches and he obligingly lifted his hips when she grasped the sides of his underwear.

She took him in her mouth and ran her tongue against the smooth, firm skin of his cock feeling that perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing that Killian had hung around for his reward. And she doubted that he was regretting the decision at that moment.  

Emma couldn't remember the last time she'd felt like this; powerful and desirable. It spurred her on and she used her mouth, her tongue and her hand in the hope of bringing Killian to the point of ecstasy, to see if he would beg her again, moan her name, tell her how much he enjoyed everything she was doing.  Make her believe that this was all it was.  Sex.  Good sex, granted.  Sex that was unlike anything Emma had experienced in a long time.  But still just sex.

And if it was the rare one night stand who was prepared to get out of bed and feed your cat in the morning, then all the more reason to press on with his reward for it.  He’d earned it after all.

But Killian had other ideas.  His hips thrust up lightly, in time with the movements of her mouth, and he made a kind of strangled noise in his throat before his hand came to rest on Emma’s head.  “Just…hold on for a bit, love…” he said, his voice sounding a little hoarse.

Emma wasn’t exactly thrilled with this turn of events.  She’d been quite enjoying herself and wasn’t entirely certain why Killian didn’t want to continue; was she doing something wrong?  She released him from her mouth and caught his eyes, not really bothering to hide the confusion from her face.  He’d wanted the reward, he was getting the reward.  Clearly there was no pleasing some people.

If Killian felt put on the spot by her reaction, he covered it quite well.  In fact there was a smile on his face, although it looked a little sheepish.  “I just thought perhaps you might like to join me.”

“I…was?”  Emma froze, wondering what on earth had happened, where she’d gone so wrong and whether there was any point trying to salvage the situation now. 

“I mean, your efforts are very much appreciated, love.  Perhaps a little too much.  So I thought you might be in need of rewarding yourself.”

Emma was still feeling as though she’d missed out on a memo or two about the situation.  “What?  Why?”

“Because I want to.  And this is my reward, remember?”

Emma wanted to argue, but, not for the first time, Killian had effectively removed her ability to argue with him without seeming ungrateful and just plain weird.  Because regardless of what exactly it was he was planning, she was pretty sure she was going to enjoy it. 

And while she was arguing with herself about whether she should be arguing with Killian, he took charge anyway, and Emma found herself pulled against his chest and kissed to the point where her memory of wanting to argue with anyone became decidedly hazy.

Killian’s hand drifted down her body, brushing gently along the curve of her breast and her hip, and slowly, almost too slowly, he pressed his fingertips between her parted legs and Emma was a little surprised at how anxious she was for him to touch her there.  She’d thought the amount of time they’d spent in bed the day before would have taken the shine off of sex, not to mention made her feel a little worn out.

But somehow that hadn’t been the case at all.  In fact knowing where things were heading made the anticipation worse, and she was certainly beginning to understand why Killian may have been so quick to forfeit his reward in favour of other activities.

Just as Emma was contemplating throwing her dignity to the wind and begging Killian for something more, something that would push her over the edge she was so finely balanced on, he seemed to snap as well. 

In a sudden flurry of movement, quite unlike the languid bliss they’d been lying in, Killian’s hand disappeared along with his mouth and, for a moment, Emma was almost afraid to open her eyes and figure out what was happening.  But then she heard the tell-tale sound of the drawer of her nightstand being opened and it became clearer what was actually going on.

Condom.  That was always a good idea.

Emma sat up straighter and watched as Killian rolled the condom on.  She wasn’t entirely certain that she was supposed to find the sight so arousing, but she had the benefit of her contact lenses now and she wasn’t about to waste the gift of clear vision.

Killian looked at her from under his lashes, his expression almost coy. Yeah, so he'd caught her blatantly staring. Hopefully her mouth was at least closed. 

"See something you like, love?"  He leaned a little closer and licked his lips, looking downright predatory as he did so.

"Humph. So is this where you tell me to lie back and think of England?”  Emma might have been caught out, but she wasn’t about to just give up completely and admit she was really quite desperate to get back to what they had been doing.

“Actually,” Killian began, drawing the word out as he spoke.  “I did have another idea.  I know that they are not your cat’s favourite, but how do you feel about laps?”

It took Emma a moment to shake off her confusion at the turn the conversation had taken.  But then she looked over at Killian, and the way he was sitting on the bed, and things were a little clearer. 

“Oh.  Um.  I can…do…laps.”  Emma hoped she was treading the fine line between enthusiasm and something a little scarier. 

She felt somewhat self-conscious clambering over Killian, up until she locked eyes with him and suddenly didn’t feel quite so concerned about whether her manoeuvres were as smooth as those of some actress on a glossy TV show.  Not when he was looking at her with such intensity that she almost forgot what it was she was trying to do in the first place.

But Killian placed a hand on her hip to steady her, and Emma reached down to place his erection in just the right place, before she sank down and felt that first wash of relief as he entered her.

“Maybe laps aren’t so bad,” Emma said, a little breathlessly, as she began to move, rising and falling in a rhythm that wasn’t quite going to get her to where she wanted to go, but felt good all the same.  Maybe even more than good.  If Emma had been able to put it into words just then she would have said she felt safe, here in Killian’s arms, their chests pressed together and the light through the thin bedroom curtains allowing her to watch every expression that flickered across his face. 

Emma started moving a little faster and, after some experimentation, found the exact angle of her body, the right roll of her hips, the one that set off a chain reaction of pleasurable sensations that left her panting and sweat-slicked.

And she was getting close.  So, so close.  It was tempting to simply push through and ride out the pleasure that was about to wash over her.  To bury her head in the crook of Killian’s neck and let her body take over.

Every nerve in her body felt stretched and taut.  It was the most wonderful and the most maddening feeling in the world, all at the same time.  And suddenly everything in the world had narrowed down to one point, one focus.  Killian.

For a moment, Emma almost faltered, jolted out of the moment by the realisation that this wasn’t how it usually worked.  Sure, she’d had good sex before.  A lot of good sex.  While the men she picked may have been crappy boyfriends, things in the bedroom were usually more than just OK because if there was one thing Emma knew, it was her own body.

More than that, Emma understood the way her mind needed to work in order for her to get off.  The way she’d retreat into the warmest, darkest recesses of her memories and just focus, focus, focus on nothing but the pleasure she was feeling. 

But this, as pleasurable as it certainly was, was nothing like the good sex she’d had in the past.  That had been about her body, her pleasure, making sure that the partner she was with didn’t get in the way of Emma’s plans for her own release.  If they could add to it, then that was an undeniable bonus, but it wasn’t something Emma necessarily expected.

It took Emma a little by surprise that she didn’t want to follow the tried and tested route she’d gone down before.  That this wasn’t just about her, it was about something nebulous and fragile, something that hovered in the air between them.  And she didn’t want to look away this time, retreat into her own thoughts and wait for her orgasm to come.  She wanted to watch the way that Killian’s eyelashes fluttered as she ran her nails lightly down his side, the way his lips parted in anticipation as she leaned forward to kiss him, the slight sheen of sweat at the edge of his hairline.  It was all mesmerising and Emma was afraid that if she looked away, if she closed her eyes for just a moment, then she’d miss something important.

Emma kept her eyes on Killian until it was almost too much and she pressed her forehead to his, her hands on his shoulders, the rhythm of her rising and falling against him so, _so_ , good now.  And then, in a moment she felt had been too long coming, but still snuck up on her all the same, her orgasm washed over her leaving her a little breathless.

Killian’s grip on her waist grew tighter, and he thrust up faster and rougher and, as tempting as it was to simply let it all happen around her while she recovered, Emma lifted her head and looked, _really_ looked at Killian.  It was, without a doubt, one of the most erotic sights she’d ever witnessed, seeing him as he broke apart around her.

It set off a chain of emotions in Emma that she struggled to separate into coherent thoughts.  It was almost like the night before, the moment when she’d realised that Killian was, perhaps, just as hesitant as she was, just as fearful of being hurt.  But now, instead of feeling as though she could hurt him as much as he could hurt her, Emma felt as though, somehow, the old hurts weren’t as bad anymore.  Not when they were together, like this.  Not when it was her and Killian and her tongue loosened again.  “I am…” she blurted out, and then stopped.

It was the small flicker of anticipation in Killian’s eyes that did it.  The moment when he seemed to realise she was about to declare something hopeful and dramatic.  It brought her back to herself, slamming back into awareness like she’d been on some weird trip and suddenly found herself stone, cold sober.

And, honestly, who would be so stupid as to blurt out a hasty declaration of, well, _whatever_ , right after they’d had sex?  When they were still sweaty and joined together and just…

Emma was not that person.

So the words _your love_ died prematurely in her throat.  Instead she finished with “Kind of famished, actually.  Do you, uh, want to hang around and I could make you lunch?”

Killian’s expression changed from hopeful to, Emma thought, a little confused.  And he was probably right to be so.  After all, declarations of something-that-was-maybe-like-love while in this position were off-putting and odd, but so, perhaps, were offers of lunch.

“I’d like that,” Killian said softly, the smile on his face not showing any sign of the disappointment Emma was certain he must be feeling.  Because she’d let him down, and once again proved that, as great as all this sex was, she still wasn’t the right person for him.

The right person would do more than just offer lunch.  The right person for Killian would know how to tell him what she felt, without chickening out or making it seem like she was scary and weird.

Emma started disentangling herself from Killian, the sweat across her chest sticking to the hair on his as she pulled away.  “But, uh…maybe a shower first?” she suggested, as Killian grinned at her in a way that made her almost completely lose track of the sombre thoughts she’d had just moments earlier.  She wasn’t his right person; but sometimes, she just didn’t _care_.

The fact that her shower was tiny was both a blessing and a curse.  It was difficult for them to effectively share the water and, on more than one occasion, the only water Emma actually had access to was the spray bouncing off Killian’s elbow and annoyingly hitting her straight in the eye.  On the other hand Emma found herself spending an awful lot of time pressed up against Killian, enjoying the feeling of soap-slippery skin on skin.  And although she was far too sated to do little more than indulge in some kissing, and maybe a little fondling, it didn’t make the situation any less enjoyable, spurts of water in the eye and all. 

Mr Smee came looking for second breakfast and banged his paw on the door of the bathroom like some kind of outraged chaperone, but Emma couldn’t find it in herself to care, not even about the damage his claws might be doing to the paintwork.  It was simply intoxicating being this close to Killian, even without orgasms. 

By the time they made it to the kitchen it was definitely lunchtime and Mr Smee was performing the dance of the cat who thought he’d missed a meal along the way.  “If you’re good perhaps you’ll get some lunch,” Emma assured him, although the cat looked as though her words were far less reassuring than someone actually reaching for the bag of cat food would be. 

Instead, Emma reached into the cupboard above the counter and pulled out a box.  “How about macaroni cheese?”

“Are you talking to me or to him?”  Killian nodded to where Mr Smee was stationed right behind Emma’s left heel, no doubt primed to trip her up in case she carried something edible across the room. 

“Oh, I know he’ll eat it.  I was checking with you.  You’re not, like, dairy-free or something?”

Killian frowned.  “I wasn’t last week, love.”

“No.  I suppose not.”  She side-stepped around Mr Smee to get to the refrigerator. 

“I’m not, by nature, a changeable person, Emma.” 

“Uh-huh.”  She was currently trying to locate the butter and not able to manage much more of an answer, although when she did finally turn away from the refrigerator, butter and milk clutched in her arms, Killian was looking at her in a way that suggested he’d been expecting more of a response to the statement about still having dairy. 

Emma gave a sort of half-shrug with her arms full of the supplies she needed and said “I can just never keep David’s coffee order straight these days.”

With that she set to work getting a pot of water boiling and putting the macaroni in to start cooking.  Killian and Mr Smee both watched her carefully, although possibly for entirely different reasons.  Emma turned away from the pot she was stirring in time to watch Killian pick up the macaroni cheese box and sniff the remaining contents.

“You know that’s the face Tinkerbell made when I tried to change her brand of cat food,” Emma commented, as Killian’s nose wrinkled and his brows knit together.

“Perhaps she has good taste, love.  Did the new food involve any weirdly orange powder as well?”

“You know, she eats the macaroni cheese.  As does Mr Smee.”

“I’ve seen Mr Smee eat a dead fly he found on the floor once.  I don’t think he’s exactly the arbiter of taste that you’re taking him for.”

“Well, look.  Just try the stuff when it’s made and if you still think it’s horrible then I will bow to your, clearly superior, expertise and you can be in charge of the cooking again.”

“Alright.  I suppose that’s fair,” Killian agreed, still watching what Emma was doing a little too closely for comfort.  Although now she was mostly concerned with the words she’d just spoken and the idea that Killian would, indeed, be around to cook for her again.  She hadn’t exactly bothered to ask him, but rather just demanded it happen.  And what did it mean that he’d just agreed?

Emma had somehow thought that a night of sex with a person you were rather fond of outside the bedroom made things easier.  Or, at least, she’d hoped it would.  But now she was making macaroni cheese that had been compared to dead flies and invited Killian to be her permanent chef and it was all a little overwhelming.  She was beginning to understand why she’d never offered any of her one-night stands so much as a cup of coffee in the morning.

She could feel the tension rising up from the pit of her stomach to her shoulders and chest.  Trying to keep her breath steady she fixated on just stirring, stirring, stirring, hoping that her discomfort would go unnoticed.  It was a tactic that usually worked; reduce the whole world to just one point and she could block out the thing that made her unhappy.  After a while it usually left.

But Killian didn’t go anywhere, other than closer to Emma.  Close enough that he could put his arms around her waist and lean his chin on her shoulder.  And while, in other circumstances, that would have been the last thing Emma would have wanted from the person she was currently most annoyed and confused by, when it was Killian it didn’t feel so bad.  In fact, some of the tension in her shoulders started to dissipate and she maybe even felt a little better than she had done a few moments earlier.

"I’m sure it won't be so bad, love," Killian murmured into her ear and Emma lost the urge to lock herself into a little box and wait for the world to pass her by.  A little like someone had let go of a balloon with all those feelings trapped inside.  It was…odd, but not unpleasant. 

“Slightly better than a dead fly, perhaps?” she asked.

“Probably better than that.  And anyway, my offer still stands.”

Emma was tempted to ask _why?_ Or maybe even _how long for?_ But she instead satisfied herself with a small nod and a deep breath which allowed her to inhale Killian’s scent; a clean, warm, male smell that somehow made those particular questions less pressing.

When Emma was finished cooking, and had served up the macaroni cheese, Killian didn’t even seem to mind that it was a ‘weird shade of orange’ and came out of a box.  He ate it happily enough and could only be persuaded to part with a very small portion to share with Mr Smee.

Watching Killian feed his cat, or, rather, refuse to feed his cat and the cat in question attempt steal the food anyway, made Emma happy, she realised.  Really, really happy.  This was why she’d felt so low on Friday night, after all.  Because she missed the feeling she had when they were all together in the kitchen, when Killian and Mr Smee and even Tinkerbell were around and everything seemed easy and Emma could almost believe it would always be that way.

And she was torn between enjoying the moment as it was happening, and trying to step back and record it somehow, make sure her memory had it down exactly so that when they weren’t around, when it was just her and Tinkerbell again, she’d have this to look back on.  This time she’d know what she had lost.

It caused her a small moment of melancholy, just to think that one day this might be the happiest memory she could remember.  And then she was dragged away from her thoughts and back into the moment as Tinkerbell arrived in the kitchen and crawled into Killian’s lap in her own attempt to get some macaroni cheese.

Killian’s cries of “Ow, ow, ow!” made it quite plain that she wasn’t holding back on using her claws.

“I guess that’s payback for the pillow stealing earlier.”

“Pillow _sharing_ , thank you very much.”

“Well I suspect that there is supposed to now be a little macaroni cheese _sharing_ in return.”

Killian looked down at Tinkerbell, who had twisted her neck to give him a pleading look over her shoulder, and then over at Emma on the other side of the table.  “I guess it’s a good thing, then, that I’m really much too fond of the company to feel a little put-out at having to share my dinner.”

“I think she’s fond of you too.  Although maybe it’s just my cooking that she appreciates.  I suppose someone has to!”

“As long as someone’s fond of me,” Killian muttered and Emma guessed this was her cue to confess that she was, too.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she managed.  It wasn’t the same thing at all.  And it wasn’t really what she meant to say, but it would have to do for now.

And even just feeling like there would be some time in the future when she could replace her hastily thought-up words with something better felt, to Emma, considerably more hopeful than she’d been for a long time.

Maybe it was all going to work out?  Maybe she wouldn’t ruin the mood completely?  Maybe it was enough that they were…just enjoying each other’s company?

Maybe she just shouldn’t think so much about what might happen and enjoy her afternoon.  And it was a really enjoyable afternoon. 

Right up until it wasn’t.

Killian hadn’t seemed in any great hurry to leave after lunch and their afternoon had been spent pleasantly enough, Mr Smee’s occasional bursts of hunger-inspired yowling notwithstanding.  And when Killian reluctantly said that he should probably go home as he had work in the morning, Emma, very carefully, kept her thoughts to herself knowing that had caused her troubles on Friday night.

Because, really, he’d lived this long without a boat falling on him.  Probably he’d be fine.

But the real trouble came when they made it as far as actually saying goodbye at the door.  Emma’s reluctance to let Killian go hadn’t disappeared and he seemed to be having difficulty stepping over the threshold to the point where, for a while, Emma wondered if it might be easier to simply ask him to stay the night again.

Considering it as an option, though, wasn’t exactly the same as being brave enough to attempt it and instead Emma continued to lean against the door frame as Killian wondered idly if he should locate Mr Smee and drag him home as well.

“No, he’s OK.  I’ll, um…tell him to go home after he’s finished napping.”

“I suppose if he doesn’t seem likely to move then I could always come back and retrieve him…later?”

The tilt of Killian’s head and sly eyebrow-raise almost had Emma agreeing to that suggestion, but she stood firm in her resolve.  “Or you can just catch up with him tomorrow, I guess.”

“I suppose.  And I did promise to come back and feed you.”

“In case I resort to dead flies off the floor.  You know, that’s probably an untapped source of protein.”

Killian smiled, and then leaned down to kiss her and Emma forgot about trying to make him feel guilty for the dead fly comment.  The kiss was, however, over far too soon for Emma’s liking and it was that sudden loss which, she’d later tell herself, led to what happened next.

“Or maybe,” Killian said, still leaning close enough that she thought he might just start kissing her again.  “I could meet you for lunch tomorrow.  At Granny’s, maybe?”

Emma’s mind tore itself away from the idea of just getting back to the kissing and started imagining what that would be like, walking into Granny’s Diner with Killian.  Sitting a booth with him.

Having everyone watch them and speculate about the relationship and, worst of all, feel sorry for her because it couldn’t possibly last.

And she’d be no better off than she had been in the past, every time she walked into a new group home, a new school cafeteria.  Every time someone whispered _foster kid_ or _orphan_ or any of the other ways they labelled her as something utterly different to themselves, something lesser.  Someone to be pitied for the things she had no control over.  It wasn’t a position Emma ever wanted to find herself in again.

Most disheartening of all she wasn’t even sure that being Killian’s love would make any difference to the way everyone else saw her.  She’d still be Emma Swan, and nothing he could say would ever change that.

She could feel the panic rising up in her throat, the urge to push Killian away and shut the door firmly and not leave the house ever again.  And the awful part was that it was absolutely, painfully clear that Killian could see the struggle going on inside her.  His eyes searched her face, the hand that he had rested on her shoulder fell away, and he took a step back without any kind of insistence on Emma’s part, his gaze dropping to the floor between them in the process.

Worse, when he lifted his eyes to look at her again the spark of hope that had been there just moments earlier had faded completely.  “Or not.  If you’re busy, love.”

Grateful as she was to still be termed ‘love’ Emma mostly felt the burning shame of not being able to give Killian what he asked for.  It was such a simple thing.  Why couldn’t she do it?

But instead of an apology all she came up with was “It’s a little hard to say when we’ll be eating lunch…the job…you know.”

“Of course.”  Killian nodded, a little too formally for Emma’s liking, and then he kissed her cheek, once, before stepping back and down the porch steps.  It hurt, more than Emma thought it should, that he suddenly had no trouble actually leaving her place and returning home.  And not even the fact that Mr Smee was still deeply asleep on his blanket in the living room made her feel better about the situation.

Because the worst part was that Killian looked at her like her knew why she’d held back, like he understood her reluctance to take the risk and actually own up to the fact she wanted to be with him.  And he’d just accepted that because it was obvious to everyone.

It didn’t matter how many nice weekends she had with guys who wanted to spend time with her and cook for her and who were amazing at sex and made her feel like she was something special.  It didn’t matter how many cats found her pleasant enough company as long as she remembered where the cat food was kept.  And it didn’t even matter how many times she helped out a friend by playing third wheel at dinner.

None of it made any difference because the damage had been done a long time ago.  Emma was broken, and she always would be.

She shut the door quickly, not wanting to watch Killian walking away without looking back and felt all the weight she thought had been lifted from her shoulders settling in place once again.  It was a familiar feeling and she was so used to it now that it wasn’t unpleasant, but it was unwelcome.

Killian was lying to himself if he believed she was the right person for him.  She wasn’t even the right person for herself anymore.

It was almost tempting to march across the road and say as much to Killian, to tell him that it wasn’t so much that lunch was a no-go, but that anything else was probably off the cards now, too.  Better to just pretend the whole weekend had never happened and carry on with their own, separate, lives.

But, while she liked to think she was nothing if not brutally honest with herself, she didn’t feel ready to treat Killian quite so harshly and besides, Mr Smee probably needed company in the living room.

Emma might be Killian’s love, but she had no idea how on earth she’d managed to earn such a title, or what she was meant to do now she had.  And really, for someone like her, it all seemed a little too hard, anyway.  She was better off shutting the door on the world, like she’d shut the door on Killian, and hoping it would all just go away.

Only it didn’t, because Killian’s words echoed in her mind, and the look he’d had when she had brushed off his offer of lunch was all she could think about as she tried to sleep and Emma didn’t understand why she couldn’t just block out the pain like she had in the past.  Something was missing; something she’d had, fleetingly the night before, and she didn’t know how to get it back.  She wasn’t even sure she could get it back now.

And in the early hours of the morning, when Emma’s sleep hadn’t been restful at all and she’d woken again thinking that Tinkerbell must have disturbed her, although it looked as though the cat hadn’t stirred from her spot on the pillow, that Emma’s mind started to wonder whether the worse thing was to be the person everyone pitied, or the woman who pitied herself.

Emma reached out a hand and stroked Tinkerbell’s back and hoped that things might seem a little clearer when the sun came up.

**Thanks for reading!**


	7. Chapter 7

Monday morning dawned, and Emma had no problem putting aside her worries and getting herself to the station; she’d had more than enough practice over the years at burying her problems and work was nothing if not distracting.  Most distracting was the fact that David was already annoyed and the day had only just begun.

“If I have to remind that De Vil woman about the speed limit in a school zone one more time I’ll end up doing something drastic!” he exclaimed, when Emma was still a couple of feet away from her desk.  She wondered how long he’d been waiting for her to arrive so he could get it all off his chest.

“Um…OK.  What constitutes drastic?”

David sighed, heavily.  “I’ll drive over there and…and…well I could let the air out of the tyres on that monstrosity she drives.”  He nodded once and then looked over at Emma.

As tempting as it was to point out that this probably constituted a prank more than the nefarious evil-doings David seemed to think he’d conjured up, Emma refrained.  The reality was that David was one of the good guys and not even a woman in a ridiculously over-powered car with no sense of the speed limit was going to change that. 

“So…coffee?” Emma asked, thinking that changing the subject might be a good idea.

But David hesitated.  “Uh…oh.  No, thanks.  I guess.”  He looked down at something on his desk, adopting a rather mournful expression and for a moment Emma thought that perhaps there was some road-kill lurking there, a victim of Cruella’s De Vil’s excessive speed.

She stepped towards his desk and tried to get a better look.  “Is that a tea-bag?”

“Yep.  It’s some sort of…herbal concoction.  Mary Margaret gave it to me.  I said I’d give up coffee…you know, in solidarity.  But damnit, I could really use coffee this morning.”

“So…coffee then?”

David looked despondent.  “No…no.  I gave my word.  Just hot water, thanks.”

Emma poured herself some coffee and brought David the requested hot water, and then watched as he added the teabag and jiggled it around.  The smell was kind of over-powering, even from Emma’s side of the desk.

“Wow, that’s uh…” she tried to come up with a suitable word.  “Pungent.”

“It smells like mouldy hay,” David grumbled.

“Maybe it tastes OK, though?”

He took a sip, and then screwed up his face.  “No.  Jeez, when I said I’d give up coffee I didn’t realise this was the alternative.”  He put the cup down and pushed it away from him, which would have been fine, except he just moved it further towards Emma and, as a result the smell got stronger and she had to fight her urge to screw up her own face in disgust.

“Maybe it’ll grow on you?” Emma suggested, but David scowled in a way that suggested he didn’t think much of that idea at all and the thought of spending a whole day with a disgruntled David who hadn’t even had any coffee didn’t appeal at all. 

“I doubt that.  I only tried it for Mary Margaret’s sake, and it’s not like she’s the one here smelling that god-awful smell.”

Emma tried imagining what the rest of the day would be like if David didn’t snap out of this mood, and to say it wouldn’t be fun would be an understatement.  She’d be almost tempted to let him head off to tamper with Cruella De Vil’s car just so he could find an outlet that didn’t involve complaining.

So maybe Emma’s next comments were meant as a distraction; at least, that’s what she could tell herself when she formulated the idea.  Maybe she had some other ulterior motive that she wasn’t going to admit at all.

“You know, Killian does this weird thing and just leaves his tea sitting on the counter for ages before he can drink it.  It’s like tar or something by the time he gets to it.  Sometimes he has to use two teabags to get it strong enough and I just…why?  I mean, it can’t taste that great if it looks like tepid black goo, right?”

“No, that is kinda weird,” David agreed.

“But at least it doesn’t smell like that does.”  Emma nodded at David’s discarded cup.  “You know what we could do?  Drive over and pour it into Cruella’s gas tank.”

David chuckled at that.  “Or maybe next time she’ll fail her sobriety test when I stop her.  Honestly, she was pretty close this morning.  Forget tea, I think that woman is living on straight gin.” 

“Probably,” Emma agreed, watching as David stood up, and then, with hands on hips, stared at the cup of mossy green tea for a few moments before seeming to make a decision. 

“You know, there’s probably no point me drinking me that now.  I think I left the tea-bag in for too long…or something.” David picked up the cup and walked off towards the sink in the corner, one hand in his pocket and whistling a tune that Emma couldn’t place at all.

Suddenly she felt lighter herself for reasons that had very little to do with the fact that David might be a happier person once he’d disposed of the undrinkable tea.  It was a small thing, really, mentioning Killian in such a casual fashion, but she’d done it and the world hadn’t come crashing down in the process, reminding her that nothing good was hers forever.  A tiny victory over her own mind, but a definitive one all the same. 

More importantly it had somehow solidified Killian to her in the process.  Emma had spent the weekend with him in their own private bliss but this made his presence in her life, even if it was a presence marked by cups of tea left on the kitchen counter, something tangible that she could share with the outside world.  Almost as though she was saying _See? He must really like me because he hasn’t left me yet._

Certainly when she got home from work Killian hadn’t left Storybrooke when she wasn’t looking.  The note pinned to her front door told her that dinner was waiting for her in the cottage across the street, although Mr Smee’s presence in her hallway told her that no one had given him a note to that effect and he had been wondering where everyone had gone with his dinner.

“Just wait while I get changed, OK?” Emma said to the cat, as he threw himself into Emma’s path and made a vain attempt to appeal to her sense of decency.  Mr Smee didn’t seem to understand the notion that leaving Emma alone made things go quicker and he followed her around, staying about a half-step away from a crushed tail, while she quickly changed clothes and removed the contact lenses that were making her eyes ache.

After pouring some cat food into a bowl for a noticeably absent Tinkerbell, and scooping up Mr Smee before he could help himself to the food she’d just put down, Emma walked back out the front door and started across the street, only to be faced with one of those odd dilemmas that no one in a romance novel or rom-com movie seems ever to face.

Did she go to the back door or the front?

Mr Smee squirmed in her arms and, as she reached the driveway to the little cottage Killian was renting, she relented and placed him on the ground.  Clearly he had no qualms about which entrance to use because he immediately ran past the side of the house and disappeared from sight which, Emma had to admit, was preferable to simply running back across the street to her place.  The obvious choice seemed to be to follow him, and so Emma walked down a small path over-run by weeds around the corner of the cottage and watched the orange tail in front of her disappear in the back door.

Emma followed, leaning in to look through the open doorway just in time to hear “I bloody told you to bugger off.  You’re not having any!”

“Um…hello.”

Killian’s head twisted sharply and he stopped glaring at Mr Smee and started smiling at Emma.  It was such a sudden change that Emma almost had to stop herself from looking over her shoulder to see if there was someone else there; she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had looked quite so happy just to see her.

Completely unexpectedly she found herself smiling back, without even really thinking about it. 

“Sorry, love.  I was just trying to explain to Mr Smee that I’ve already fed him.”

“Have you?  I found him lurking at my place trying to con me into giving him another dinner.  I very nearly did.”

Killian looked down at Mr Smee who was performing the dance of the cat who wanted to know more about the source of that delicious smell.  “Well, mate, looks like you’ve lost the knack for it.”

“Knack for what?” Emma asked, stepping inside the kitchen, careful to avoid the loose piece of linoleum right in front of the doorstep.  It was tempting to tell Killian to put a mat over it before someone killed themselves, but he was unlikely to care much about temporary accommodation.

“The knack for getting free food.  When I found him hanging around a marina he was a natural and everyone was a target; fishermen arriving back with a catch, small children with unattended sandwiches and, of course, me.”  Killian gave her a wry smile.  “I guess I was just the only one who was gullible enough to keep feeding him.”

“Well then he’s just out of practice.  You should make him work harder for it.”  Emma took a step forward at the same time as Killian and there was an awkward moment when they met somewhere in the middle and she wasn’t sure what the appropriate protocol was.  Luckily Killian seemed to have more of a clue than she did, and he kissed her cheek, swiftly, leaving Emma reeling a little.  She wasn’t entirely convinced that it was normal, or even possible, to be quite so badly affected just by a kiss on the cheek.

Trying to regain her composure she decided to show a little interest in what Killian was doing.  “So, uh…what is for dinner?”

“Fish pie.  Hence the desperation in Mr Smee’s demeanour.”

“Yeah.  He, uh, just stepped on my foot.”  Emma watched as Mr Smee circled around her legs, not really watching where he was going as his gaze shifted from Killian to Emma and back again in a wide-eyed plea of pure desperation.

“He was under my feet earlier.  Literally.  I stepped on his tail and he still didn’t take the hint that he wasn’t needed just at that moment.”

“Well, that’ll be the feeding him thing coming back to bite you in the ass.  Maybe you should be worried that if you keep making all these dinners you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

“Oh that’s not something I would be worried about at all, love.  The biting on the ass thing, though…”  Killian paused, and adopted an exaggeratedly thoughtful pose.  “That does sound intriguing.”

“I…uh…”  Emma was about to say that she wasn’t offering, but the truth was, she didn’t actually know when it came to Killian.  Maybe she was?  And while she was worrying about how to respond she managed to avoid thinking about the part of Killian’s speech where he wasn’t concerned with her staying around.  Because that was all fine and dandy but she definitely wasn’t about to follow him across the country like Mr Smee.  Some things she just knew for a fact.

“Um…” Emma tried again, not really getting anywhere fast.

“You seem to have gone a little red, love.”

“I…no!  That’s just the reflection off the counter tops.  It is _really_ orange in here.”  Emma waved her arms around vaguely, hoping to just deflect the whole thing.  Somehow it was always easier when they were talking about the colour of the Formica.

“Ah.  So the specs are giving you a better appreciation, are they?”

“No.  I just decided to wear them, is all.”  Emma shrugged.

“Sorry.  Assumed there was _a reason_ , love.”  Killian gave her a significant look and it took most of Emma’s willpower not to succumb to another blush when the memories of their time in her bedroom came flooding back.

“Well if there was then I’ll let you know.”  Coy wasn’t really Emma’s strong suit, but she was giving it her best shot.

“You do…oh, bloody hell Mr Smee!”  Killian had taken one step closer to Emma, but that step had connected with fur not linoleum and only his last minute grab for the counter had stopped him overbalancing completely.

Mr Smee gave Killian a reproachful look and meowed mournfully, quite clearly giving Emma the impression that all this talking was one thing, but no one really understood his pain.

Emma scooped him up into her arms and he started purring automatically, even if his eyes never left Killian, who was now opening up the oven door.

“It’s probably best that you hold him,” Killian grumbled.  “I’d hate to have spent all that money on his treatment only to watch him climb into the oven and roast himself.”

Emma scratched behind Mr Smee’s ears.  “He likes you really,” she told the cat.  “You can tell by the fact he’s putting some of that pie on a little saucer just for you.”

“Just trying to buy some peace and quiet, love.”

“Of course,” Emma continued, to a rather oblivious Mr Smee who was far too intent on escaping her clutches now the food was actually in sight.  “If he gives you too much of the potato from the top I might be annoyed.  I’m pretty sure that’s my reward.”

“And what is it I’m buying from you?” Killian asked, looking up from the food he was serving and appearing almost scared of what Emma’s reaction might be, which was a ridiculous thought because he’d been the master of flirting earlier when all Emma had managed was to turn the same shade as a tomato.

She wasn’t quite sure what to make of the sudden change in mood.

“I don’t know; what do you want?” she asked in a voice that had lost all its bravado.  She waited to see what Killian would say, half-terrified and half-hoping that he might suggest lunch again because maybe, _maybe_ , she would say yes this time.

Although she really didn’t know.  And she wasn’t sure that her _maybes_ and her _almosts_ and her _perhaps next times_ were going to be enough for anyone ever, and certainly not for Killian now.

“You could, uh…stay, love.”  For a moment Emma was confused, because she was certainly not the one who was intending to leave Storybrooke anytime soon.  She wasn’t certain if her confusion was plain in her face, but Killian certainly noticed her hesitation and continued.  “Unless you’re scared of how far the orange extends through the house, of course.”

“Oh.  Well, no.  I mean…yes.  I’ll stay.”  Emma was a little surprised at the fact she’d actually answered Killian this time, and positively to boot.  Maybe she wouldn’t be relegated to a life of only maybes, maybe she’d actually be able to live in the moment for once.

And she did try.  She tried really hard all the way through their dinner of fish pie and salad, through an evening of watching television and listening to Mr Smee yowl plaintively in the kitchen. 

But it was an act that Emma could only keep up for so long.  At bedtime she sat in the dingy little bedroom that Killian was sleeping in and stared at the closet, lined with peeling floral wallpaper and missing its doors.  That only a few items of clothing were hung on the thin, sagging rail and the large duffle bag taking up most of the space on the floor spoke to the fact everything was placed there temporarily anyway.  Pretty soon it would all be packed up and disappear and someone else’s belongings would take their place.

They were depressing thoughts, and Emma felt a little rebellious in their presence.  She was no longer content with just sitting around waiting for the worst to happen.  When Killian left it might be a different matter, but right now she didn’t want to play the part of the woman too afraid to let herself feel any pain. 

It was a really crappy role and the truth was that it didn’t protect her from anything, it just turned her own mind against her and stopped her from letting Killian know how much she actually enjoyed having him around, even if was only for a little while.

When he joined her in the bedroom and found her still staring at the open space of the closet, lost in her own thoughts she caught the furrow of his brows as she turned to face him.  “You alright, Emma?”

“I am now.”  Emma couldn’t remember a time when it was so easy to match her words up to what was in her heart, and it felt a little like shedding her skin and being lighter for it.  She set about showing Killian just how much she did enjoy being there, with him.  Emma just hoped that was enough for now.

Staying because Killian asked was one thing, but waking up in a house across the street with a bedmate who had other activities in mind than Tinkerbell usually did, didn’t add up to Emma getting to work on time.

Consequently, around the time she should have been climbing into her little car and heading off to the station, Emma was frantically unlocking her front door and trying to make it down the hallway without tripping over an equally frantic Tinkerbell.

“I don’t think you can exactly talk, you weren’t here last night either,” Emma told her cat, as she scrambled around in the kitchen for Tinkerbell’s food.  The cat just continued to look at her reproachfully, clearly not accepting Emma’s non-apology for being late with breakfast. 

And Emma couldn’t stand around trying to get back into Tinkerbell’s good graces, anyway.  She had what was possibly the quickest shower she’d taken since leaving behind the group homes and their constant policing of hot water, and threw on her uniform before heading back out the door in just over 15 minutes, her braid leaving a wet trail across the back of her jacket.

Still, as annoying as the break to her usual morning routine was, she was awfully tempted to run across the street and check to see whether Killian had made better time getting ready than she had.  Just…because she was interested.

It was a funny thing how knowing more about him, spending more time with him, just made her more curious about what made him tick.  It was a pleasant kind of curiosity, not the usual burning to know feeling she got when trying to figure out why someone might have thrown a brick through the library window or spray painted a bunch of curse words on the school gymnasium.  This was something entirely more personal.

But Emma was late, and didn’t have time to indulge that curiosity right then.

If David noticed that Emma was a little late to work, he never mentioned it.  He seemed to have other things on his mind, most noticeably the cup on his desk he was just staring at. 

“Are you trying the tea again?” Emma asked him.

“I was…thinking about it.  But I’m not sure I could stomach it.  I thought I could maybe do one cup a day…but I just can’t.”

“Well then, don’t.  Life’s too short.”  Emma sat down wondering if it would just be cruel to go and get coffee herself.  She hadn’t actually had time for breakfast either.  Something to eat would be welcome about now as well.

“I know.  But I did say I’d give up coffee.”

“Well, how about cocoa?  And, uh…you know what?  Let’s go all out and get pastries.”

David looked up from the cup and frowned.  “You seem awfully keen on sugar this morning.  Something up?”

“No.  Nope.  Not at all.  Just need a little pick me up.”  Emma waited a moment, but David didn’t question her further so she continued on.  “I’ll just head on over to Olaf’s and then, uh, meet you by the library in fifteen, say?  You get the cocoas from Granny’s and maybe after we can do a walk around Main Street.”

David had barely agreed before Emma was out the door and down the street telling herself that it was just the rumbling of her stomach propelling her away from her desk and not the possibility of awkward questions about just why she had missed breakfast in the first place.

It was only once she was inside Olaf’s and heard Anna’s voice call out “I’ll be there in a minute!” that Emma realised she might be in for a decidedly more awkward encounter than if it had been Elsa serving her. 

But there was no pretending she wasn’t there, and her need for something sweet was growing by the moment, and in the end she just called back “OK,” and hoped for the best.

After another few moments of Emma studying the goods on display, Anna emerged through the door, smiling broadly and with a large streak of flour in her hair. “Oh, hey Emma.”  She wiped a hand across her face, leaving another stripe of flour on her cheek.

“Hey…uh.  You’re here today?”

“Yep.  Elsa had to go to a meeting, so I got volunteered!  Well, I volunteered.  I mean, it’s either me or Aunt Helga, and we know how _that_ worked out last time.”

“Yeah…yeah.”  Emma had a vague recollection of an incident that involved Helga, Tom Clark from the drugstore and a cranberry scone, but no one had involved her at the time and she suspected it had more to do with Tom’s long-held admiration for Helga than her inability to run a bakery.  With no desire to have the whole story re-counted by Anna, Emma settled for nodding in a manner that suggested she already knew all the ins and outs.

“So what can I get you?” Anna asked.

“Oh, um.  Two bear claws, please.”

“Is the extra one for Killian or Mr Smee?” Anna asked, as she searched around for something to put the pastries in.

“Neither.  I’m treating David.”

“Oh.  OK.”  Emma waited for Anna to add something else to that, to once again insist that Killian would be a good boyfriend, and ask why Emma didn’t want him to be her boyfriend, and possibly mention braiding hair again.  But she didn’t do any of that, just dropped her eyes and picked up a pair of tongs.

It made something twist in Emma’s chest because if even Anna, annoyingly effervescent and eternally hopeful Anna, was giving up on Emma then she really was a lost cause.

And she didn’t feel like a lost cause.  Or, rather, she was sick of feeling like one.  Sick of feeling like there was no point in even trying because the result would always be the same.  It didn’t seem to matter what she did, whether she paraded a lover who’d only desert her through Granny’s during the lunchtime rush or not she was still the same old Emma everyone had given up on.

She’d had _years_ of that.  A lifetime of being written off as just a foster kid who’d never amount to anything, a juvenile drifter who’d find herself on the wrong side of the law soon enough.

But Emma had proved them wrong on those counts, proved that she wasn’t the girl they thought she was.  And, really, was this any different?  If she didn’t want to fit their mental picture of her then only she could change their minds.

It was such a small thin; just a mention of Killian.  And she tried to think of a way to do it that didn’t make her sound like some sixteen year old with a crush, desperate to bring up the object of her desire at every opportunity. 

Maybe she just needed to mention someone else first?  “I did try Mr Smee on a bearclaw once, but I’m not sure it agreed with him.  There was um…well he got gas.”

Anna nodded at that, closing the box she’d placed the two bear claws in.  “Kristoff’s dog Sven is like that.  Everything gives him gas.  I mean…no, everything.  Of course last time he ate a bear claw he stole it and ate the box as well.  I don’t think cardboard’s great for dogs.”

“I think we might keep Mr Smee to savoury things from now on.  Although he was a little annoying last night trying to eat the fish pie Killian had made.”

Anna wrinkled her nose.  “Fish?  In a pie?”

“It’s not really a pie…more like, um, fish and sauce with mashed potato on top.”

“Oh.  That sounds better.  For a moment I thought that you were stuck with a boyfriend like mine.”

Emma might have been OK with mentioning Killian, but she wasn’t prepared to label him something he patently was not when he wasn’t around to confirm or deny it.  “He’s not really my…” she started to say, but Anna continued on, oblivious to Emma’s attempt to set her straight on the matter.

“I guess it’s because they’re, like, foreign or something?  You know?  Well, Kristoff’s not…but his folks are.  Do you know what Norwegians eat at Christmas?”  At this point she did pause, and Emma wracked her brain trying to figure out what the answer was, feeling a little put on the spot.

In the end it didn’t matter, because Anna just carried on as though she’d never stopped.  “It’s, like, rotten fish.  It actually is!  That’s how they want it and they think it’s a delicacy, or something?  Anyway, every Christmas with Kristoff’s family is like an episode of _Fear Factor_ , just without the, you know, prize.  And with more scarily naked old people when it’s time for the sauna.”

Anna sighed.  “So, really, fish pie sounds much better as a thing.”

“Yeah.  It’s a pretty good thing,” Emma agreed, handing a few bills across the counter to Anna who took them, slowly and with a pensive look on her face.

“I just…do we charge you?  You know, because you’re from the police department.  I feel like we shouldn’t charge you.” 

“No, no.  Elsa definitely charges me.”

“Well, if Elsa does then it’s OK.  She likes rules.  I once had to sign a good behaviour bond to be allowed to enter her bedroom.”

“Oh.  OK.”

“Yeah.  I was five.  I still think I should have got better legal representation, because some of the rules I had to follow were a little tough.  She had some really pretty Barbies.  But there you go, Emma.  Have a great day!”

“You too, Anna.”  Emma took her change, picked up the box with the bear claws and walked out of Olaf’s feeling lighter, maybe even feeling something you could call happy, although deep down she thought that might be pushing it.  But whatever the feeling was, it was a pleasant one and it drifted around her like a shaft of sunlight on a cloudy day.

David didn’t look nearly as sunny as he arrived beside the library clutching two Styrofoam cups.  “It was busy in there and only Granny working.”

“Uh-huh.”  Emma opened the box with the bear claws before she and David performed a rather complicated set of manoeuvres which involved passing the items back and forth several times, until they were both left holding one pastry and one cocoa each.

“I feel a little like a walking cliché now,” David grumbled.

“Well, at least you’re not stuck with the mouldy straw tea,” Emma pointed out, in an effort to cheer him up.

“It was mouldy hay I compared it to.”

“You would know, farm-boy.  I’ve spent my whole life trying to steer clear of hay, mouldy or otherwise.”

“You’re sassy when you’ve had sugar.  I think I might ban you from having that first thing in the morning.”

Emma was about to reply with something about not being the one who felt the need to constantly change her diet when she realised David had stopped walking and was staring at someone across the street.  Emma came to a halt as well and followed David’s gaze.

She could see old Mr Spratt who had to be…what?  Nearly 90 now, surely, making his way painfully down the pavement, past the dress shop and on towards the drugstore.

“He’s, uh….doing well.  All things considered,” David said, with a nod of his head in Mr Spratt’s direction.

“Yeah.  At least he’s getting out of the house.  Can’t be easy for him.”

Six months earlier David and Emma had been called over when Mr Spratt’s wife had collapsed in the parking lot between the drugstore and the dollar store.  She wasn’t breathing and the paramedics who’d arrived had tried everything but hadn’t been able to resuscitate her.  Mr Spratt remained remarkably calm right up until they announced there was nothing they could do but, as soon as the paramedic spoke, he had simply sat down on the pavement and cried like a baby.  They’d been married for sixty-six years and, in less than five minutes, he’d lost the woman he’d loved and found himself facing the rest of his life alone.

It was a morning Emma could never forget and though she and David had managed to be professionally consoling as they’d called Mr Spratt’s son and daughter-in-law and waited with him until they arrived, it had rattled both of them.  David had been silent on the walk back to the station until he’d suddenly turned to Emma and said “I know it’s selfish, but I pray to God I go first.”

Emma hadn’t had much to add to that, but inside she was feeling like the worst human being possible.  While David might have felt his desire not to be the bereaved partner was a truly selfish desire Emma had been internally warring with herself, torn between the notion that she should be grateful it would never be her sitting devastated on the pavement and utterly envious of the woman who’d died.

No one would ever mourn her so completely. 

And it had shamed her to feel that way, to the point where she spent the next few hours avoiding David as much as she could because worse than not having anyone to love her, worse than feeling that empty spot in her heart, was the idea that someone might realise that her most desperate desire was to be the object of so much affection.

Because if they knew that then it would be obvious just how much of a failure she’d been since the minute she was born.

Emma and David watched as Mr Spratt’s daughter-in-law came out of a nearby store and took the elderly man’s arm.  “Well, at least he’s not totally alone.  That’s good,” David commented and Emma nodded, taking another sip of her cocoa and not trusting her voice just at that moment.  While she’d been able to hold in her fears on the day of Mrs Spratt’s death, she wasn’t entirely sure she’d manage the same right then.

Something had shifted inside of her since that day and feelings left buried for years had been bubbling up towards the surface. 

David eyed her, a little warily Emma thought, but turned back to the scene across the street.  Mr Spratt was now being led into the drug store and probably hadn’t noticed them watching him, anyway.

“You know, it’s, uh, your friend Killian who I really admire,” David announced, suddenly, after swallowing the last bite of his bear claw.

Emma couldn’t figure out where the change in subject had come from, short of David reading her mind, and she gave him a look that suggested, she hoped, that he was quite clearly talking out of his ass.

“He told me,” David explained.  “About his wife…just awful, that.  But I have to admire him for starting again.  That’s…that’s certainly brave.”

Once upon a time Emma would have continued on with the pretence that anything Killian did or didn’t do had nothing to do with her.

But she was a little raw at the moment, and a little more willing to accept the fact that she couldn’t pretend that David was grasping at straws.

“It is, and I just wish…well, I’d like to be brave too.”

David gave her a sympathetic look.  “I know, Emma.  And honestly, I think you are.  I always have.”  He patted her on the shoulder and then looked a little bit embarrassed.

“Of course,” he continued.  “Maybe not quite as brave as me.  You could always aspire to that, you know.”

“Oh, yeah.  Definitely.  Tell me again about the time you twisted an ankle jumping over the fence to avoid a goat.”

“Well if you’re going to bring that up, then you need to remember I was _ten_ , Emma.  Plus, everyone knew that the Henderson’s goat had developed a taste for human flesh.”

Emma was grateful for David’s quiet assurance, even if it did involve listening to another speech about the merits of sheep over goats.  And, certainly, she was none the worse for wear for having come so close to admitting her feelings.  Maybe it wasn’t so bad trying to be brave, even if she didn’t think she’d quite made it yet.

As the week wore on she kept trying.  At least, she did around Killian.  Mostly she gave up on trying to absolve David of his guilt about not drinking the tea and left him staring morosely into his cup every morning.

Some things you just couldn’t fix.

But she was beginning to wonder if she could fix herself.  Or, if not fix, then at least cobble together enough usable parts to render herself a near-working model of a human being.

Maybe that would be enough.

And as long as she was _trying_ , Emma didn’t feel quite so bad that perhaps she always wasn’t succeeding.  She couldn’t work up enough courage to actually suggest meeting Killian for lunch, the memory of her rejection a little too raw, but when she ran into him at Granny’s the next morning she managed to disregard the little voice in her head that told her to play it cool in front of bystanders.  Granted, she wasn’t about to throw herself into his arms in front of Leroy and the other men milling about waiting for their orders, but she did slide into a booth and manage to hold a decent conversation while she drank her coffee.

It was a process, Emma decided.  You couldn’t fix something that monumentally broken overnight and she was going to get there in the end.

It was only after a few days of listening to this voice in her head, rather than the one that told her to run that Emma was even aware of its existence.  Like suddenly discovering a grey hair or a new freckle she couldn’t quite place the moment of its first appearance, but it was there all the same, part of her now.  Telling her that maybe all hope wasn’t lost, that perhaps this time she’d find, if not an actual happy ending, then a moment in time happy enough that her life wouldn’t feel as empty as it had in the past.

For something that heralded such a change in her outlook, it seemed less frightening than Emma thought it should.  She felt, for the first time she could remember, settled, no longer wondering if there was something out there for her, but happy with what she’d found in Storybrooke.

She really hoped that Killian felt the same way.

And certainly he hadn’t spoken about leaving and he wasn’t showing much inclination to even spend any time away from her.  Or, at least, Killian didn’t show any signs of wanting to be alone right up until late in the following week when he mentioned getting to work early and left her place sometime around midnight.

Emma didn’t think much of it at the time.  They’d been spending nearly every night together, mostly at her place where the décor was, as Killian put it, “A lot less shitty.”  And she was grateful that he still had the job to go to, really.  After all, it was keeping him in Storybrooke and the longer he was here the more chance she had to prove to herself, if no one else, that she was perfectly capable of not sabotaging everything she touched.

It wasn’t until the next morning that she got any inkling that something might be going on.  She wasn’t proud of herself for pausing during her normal getting ready for work routine to peer out the living room window when she heard noises in the driveway across the street.  And she was even less pleased with the fact that she stayed there, rooted to the spot and half-hidden from view, as Killian started unloading items from his truck and carrying them into the house.

It wasn’t exactly proof of anything she decided, and she was about to return her empty cereal bowl to the kitchen when Killian walked back out of the cottage again and she got her first decent look at him that morning.  For no reason that Emma could fathom, Killian was clean-shaven.

Emma was used to the fact that the sight of Killian made her heart thrum a little bit faster in her chest, but this time her heart started up a rhythm that bordered on obnoxious.  And she couldn’t put it into words just why the sight of him bothered her so much.  It hardly made a difference to how attractive she found him, and it wasn’t as though she expected him to ask her for permission to shave. 

But she’d had a lifetime of watching people for clues as to how they really felt, what was going through their minds, whether they still wanted her or not.  Like a lot of her habits it wasn’t pleasant or productive, but no amount of hopeful voices telling her that she’d get there in the end was going to make this one disappear in a hurry.

Retreating to the kitchen as Killian drove off, Emma was temporarily distracted by the banging on the inside of the pantry door.  Opening it revealed a nonchalant looking Mr Smee surrounded by the remains of a bag of potato chips.

The cat walked across the floor and then stopped, looking back over his shoulder at Emma.  After fetching something to clean up the mess with, Emma looked at him seriously.  “Maybe I’m just over-thinking it?” she said, sweeping up potato chips and placing them in the trash.  “Maybe it’s nothing?  What do you think Mr Smee?”

But Mr Smee seemed mostly to be concerned with whether or not Emma might be about to knock over the cat food so he was really no help at all.  All she could do was try to suppress the worry that was threatening to burst out of her chest.

Emma managed to get herself as far as the station before she exploded, but it ended up directed at the completely wrong person.  David put an empty mug down on his desk, just as she walked in the door, and pulled a face.

“The trick I think is to just hold my breath and swallow.  That seems to be working,” he said, when he saw Emma had come in.

She really wasn’t in the mood right then for an inane conversation regarding David’s inability to enjoy the tea Mary Margaret had suggested he try.  “Oh for God’s sake,” she snapped.  “Just tell her you don’t like the stuff and give up.  I doubt she’ll thank you for hiding things from her.”

David looked chastened and Emma felt like a heel.  Embarrassed by her own outburst she mumbled something about paperwork and fled to the filing cabinets in the corner.  It was all very well trying to talk herself out of thinking the worst of Killian, but it didn’t make her particularly nice to be around in the meantime.

By the time she showed her face at her desk again she hoped it would have just blown over, but it clearly hadn’t.  There was a cup of steaming coffee sitting pride of place in the centre of the desk.

“Look,” David said, using the voice he brought out when he needed a particularly uncooperative suspect to behave.  “I’m not going to pry, and maybe you’re right about the tea.  I figure I should go back to coffee, so I made you some too.”

“OK,” Emma replied, not lifting her eyes from the cup.  “And, thanks.”

“No problem.  Anytime.  I mean it, Emma.  I really do.”  At the sudden shift into genuine sincerity in David’s voice Emma felt a twang of suspicion.

“Why?” she asked him.

“Why…what?”

“Why aren’t you prying?  Why are you being so nice?  What aren’t you telling me?”

The worst part, Emma decided, was not that she was allowing her stupid suspicions about Killian to spill into what should have been just another conversation with a colleague, but that David’s sudden desire to open his desk draw and push around a few uncapped pens and paperclips let her know that her suspicions weren’t unfounded at all and now she felt foolish on both accounts.

“Oh, it’s nothing really.”

“But it’s something, then?”

“Honestly, Emma.  It’s not that bad.  Just that Mary Margaret saw Ariel yesterday, you know Eric Prince’s wife…”

“Eric Prince who owns the boat yard, yes.  I know.”

“Well, she just mentioned…in passing I guess…that they’re closing up some of the business for the winter.  I think she was at the school because they want to take their daughter Melody out of school for a couple of weeks to visit Ariel’s family, and now would be a good time to do that because there won’t be a lot happening with the business.  That was all.  I swear.  So there’s nothing really bad in that, is there?”

As far as Emma was concerned, David had answered his own question with his reluctance to even tell her that much.  “Maybe not, but I think you should have told me, David.  In the same way that I think you should have told Mary Margaret about the tea.”

“It’s not a crime to want to protect the people you care about, Emma.”  Emma didn’t know quite what to say in response to that.  It wasn’t often that her problems stemmed from someone actually caring about her.

David sighed.  “But you’re right.  You said you wanted to be brave, I should have trusted you to just deal with it on your own.”

“I…OK.  Thanks.”  Emma found that, suddenly, she couldn’t look David in the eye.  It was a strange feeling, having someone who believed in her when she was really struggling to believe in herself.

There were a lot of things she felt confident about doing, even perhaps as far as facing down the mythical person-eating goat that lived on the next farm to David’s when he was a kid, but this felt like something else entirely.  And Emma was faltering badly now she had more evidence that Killian’s odd appearance and behaviour that morning hadn’t just been something she’d conjured out of her own fevered imagination.  And it was tempting, oh, so tempting, to do as she’d done in the past; simply withdraw and let the person leave without giving any inclination of exactly what that would do to her.

But, just when she was about to give up on the whole enterprise, that oddly optimistic side of her own brain, the one she’d kept silenced for so long, reared up again to remind her of one important fact.  She might not be able to stop Killian leaving, but she did have control over the memories of her that he took with him.

And, all of a sudden, she was hit with the idea of what exactly she needed to do; invite Killian to have lunch with her.

Plan set in her own mind, Emma carried on with the rest of the morning, carefully not letting anything slip to David.  She considered whether or not to send a text message to Killian, asking him if he was free, but she couldn’t quite figure out a way to word it.  So she carried on with the things she needed to do, following up on a few complaints and visiting the butcher’s shop to listen to the owner complain, again, that someone had tampered with her dumpster in the alley behind the store.  It was the most benign complaint imaginable but the woman was nothing if not belligerent, to the point where the usually even-tempered David refused to deal with her.

By the time that interview was over, with Emma being able to offer nothing but assurance that they would take the complaint seriously, she was more than ready for a break.  She called in to David to say she was taking lunch and then strolled, as leisurely as she could manage, down towards the docks.

It was easier this way, she figured, just turning up…maybe she was working still, checking the place out.  Looking for potential dumpster-shifters while she stretched her legs.  Despite the fact that this was supposed to be the moment she let Killian know that she wasn’t a total disaster in a relationship, she still felt a little bit better about having a way out, the ability to shrug and say _well, I was only passing_ or simply concoct a reason for being there altogether.

Having worked it all out in her head, the subtle shifts required to back out of the enterprise gracefully, Emma was a little thrown when she walked inside the large shed with the words Prince Boatbuilding painted on the side and found no one there, just a large yacht balanced on some supports, looking almost like it was flying.

Not really certain now whether to carry on or to leave before anyone saw her, Emma stayed rooted to the spot, wishing that she had actually sent a text when she’d had the chance.  But then she heard footsteps coming around the side of the yacht and it was far too late to move without being seen and she was stuck with waiting to be discovered.

“Oh, it’s you,” Leroy said as he came into view, wiping his hands on something old and unpleasant looking. 

“Yeah…I was just in the neighbourhood.  Checking out…you know anything about someone interfering with dumpsters?”

“Nope.  That sounds like kids though.  I’ll ask around at the school, maybe, for you if you like.”  Leroy shrugged, and put the rag he’d been holding down on a table.

“Um…OK.  You’re heading over to the school?”

“Well…got to see about a little work for the winter.  Mary Margaret said they were looking for a janitor, so I’m meeting with the principal.  But, you know, if you want I could keep my eyes and ears open specially for you…”  Leroy looked at Emma expectantly.

“I’m not paying you for information, Leroy.”

“And I ain’t offering to be a snitch.  But I’d be doing a favour to whoever’s been messing with…who’d you say the dumpster belonged to?”

“Bo Peep.”

“Well, know what?  She probably deserved it.  Woman’s a nutjob.  It’s enough to nearly make me turn vegetarian like Astrid.”

“OK, well.  Thanks, Leroy.  Good luck getting the job.  I guess you’ll, uh, need it with everything here winding down?”  Emma cast her eyes around the boatshed again, not really sure what she expected to see.

“Mmm, yeah.  It is for some of us.”  Emma turned back to see Leroy watching her intensely.  “If you’re here to see Killian,” he continued.  “He’s gone; taken the afternoon off.”

“Oh.  No.  Like I said, just a few questions about the dumpsters.”  Emma started to step away, trying to squash down the panic she felt at Leroy’s words.  Taking an afternoon off was fine; really it was.  It just didn’t seem to mesh with the whole story Killian had spun about a busy day at work when he’d left her house the night before.  Not to mention there didn’t seem to be much work here for anyone to be doing.  Emma might not be able to figure out the mystery of the moving dumpsters, but there didn’t seem to be much mystery at all here.

Just a rather sad reminder that things come to an end.

“Well, if you say so.  But he’ll be sorry he missed you.”

Emma waved a hand.  “I’ll probably see him later on.  You know…just in his driveway.  Or something.”

Leroy gave her a slightly exasperated look.  “Yeah, yeah.  Look, save the story for someone else, sister.  I ain’t stupid and I ain’t gonna spill all your secrets.  I haven’t said anything yet, have I?”

“About…?”  Emma wasn’t going to give anything away if she could help it.

“You know I get it, I do.  Nobody thought I’d be much good for Astrid at first either, and lots of folks wonder why she keeps me round.  But I think you two are good together.  And he’s better than before, when he just had that cat.  You know,” Leroy broke off and chuckled to himself.  “When he first started me and some of the guys used to call him Surly, as a nickname.  It really fitted him.  But not so much anymore.  I’ve even stopped giving him Astrid’s food, ‘cos I felt a little bad that he was eating it.  No one should eat that.  I love her, but the things she does to vegetables are criminal.”

“Well, alright.”  Emma was reeling a little and unsure how to process the new information, both about Killian and about Astrid’s cooking skills.  “I’ll, uh, see you around Leroy.”

“Yeah, you take care Emma.  You and Killian.”  With that he turned around and picked up a tool Emma didn’t think she could identify and walked around the yacht, leaving Emma to head back up the docks and towards town.

She felt a little like someone had handed her a puzzle piece, but she was missing everything else that should have been in the box and left staring at a bare table wondering what on earth to do next.

And the fact that none of it really made sense to her just proved that if she was just a better person all round, then Killian wouldn’t be off somewhere mysterious making plans to leave town.

Emma was a little pre-occupied with these thoughts, to the point where she clearly hadn’t noticed Mary Margaret trying to attract her attention until they were almost face to face.  “Hey,” the other woman said.  “You were off in your own world, there.”

“Yeah…just thinking about, you know.  Work.”  Emma shoved her hands in her pockets and tried to look like she was utterly in control of the situation.

“I just met David for lunch and he told me you got stuck with Bo Peep this morning.  I don’t blame you for trying to de-stress after that.  I haven’t been able to go into the butcher’s for months now, and not just because the smell would make me retch.  Did the walk help?”

“I don’t know,” Emma replied.  “I just feel like perhaps I’ve been doing this all wrong.”

“Doing what all wrong?  I’m not sure there is a right way to deal with timewasting bullies.”

“Yeah, no.  Not Bo Peep.  Me.  I think I’ve been dealing with me all wrong.”   Emma could hear the way her voice rose, a note of panic creeping in, but Mary Margaret merely frowned in confusion.

“Are you OK, Emma?”

“I was…then I wasn’t…and I think maybe it’s too late, but I’m not sure.”  She stopped and took a deep breath.  “What happens if you’re your own worst enemy?” 

Mary Margaret looked at her seriously.  “Then you have to be your own champion.  And if anyone can do that Emma, it’s you.”

“I don’t know why you have such faith in me.”

“Maybe I have faith in everyone.”  Mary Margaret smiled broadly.  “Maybe you just need to have some faith in yourself.”

“I…suppose.”  Emma felt a little better, although not completely free of her worries over Killian.  She looked at Mary Margaret who was still beaming.  “You seem…brighter than when I last saw you.”

“I am.  I think the nausea is passing.  Plus once I stopped trying to force that awful tea down every morning the world seemed a much nicer place.”

“Ah…”

“Don’t worry.  David confessed that he’d gone back to coffee.  To be honest I never expected him to last more than a day.  I certainly didn’t!  But it was a nice gesture on his part.  There’s not much he can do for me, so I appreciate that.”

“Yeah…” Emma said slowly, thinking about the lunch she hadn’t even had a chance to invite Killian to.  “Sometimes a gesture is all it takes.”

“Well, I better get back to school.  If I’m not there for next period there’ll be a riot and I don’t want to clean up after that.  You take care, Emma.”

Emma said her goodbyes and walked back to the station, to be greeted by a much-happier seeming David.  Emma updated him on her visit to Bo Peep, and carefully avoided any mention of what she’d done afterwards, and if David was curious then he kept it to himself.

By the time she got home that evening it was Emma who was having trouble keeping her curiosity in check.  Killian wasn’t home and she still didn’t know what was up with him.  Mr Smee, who greeted her as she opened the front door with a piercing yowl, wasn’t curious about anything other than how long it would take her to serve dinner, and Tinkerbell, waiting in the kitchen anxiously, seemed mostly concerned with whether she might actually get anything after Mr Smee had had his fill.

But when the cats were, mostly, satisfied there was still no sign of Killian.  And Emma wasn’t sure what to do about that at all.  At this time of the day a casual invitation to dinner might seem a little odd, and, despite the fact that Emma had effectively missed lunch, even her own rumbling stomach couldn’t drive her to start making something in the hope that he might just turn up and join her.

There was nothing left to do but wait, and Emma wasn’t much better at waiting than Mr Smee was.  He coiled around her ankles reminding her that there should be something else about now, some leftover or other that she could slip him. 

She told herself that it was only her annoyance with a cat who’d already been fed and wasn’t even hers in the first place that drove her marching across the road, Mr Smee tucked under her arm, sniffing the air and looking for all the world like he was enjoying his sudden after dinner jaunt.

Emma couldn’t help feeling that if Mr Smee had just learned to stay on this side of the street then she wouldn’t be in this position now.  “It’s all your fault,” she whispered, as they walked up the steps to the cottage Killian was renting, but if Mr Smee took any offence at that, he didn’t let on and he wasn’t even struggling to be let down.

Now that she was here, Emma was less inclined to just leave him here, anyway.  The sun had almost set and the cottage looked a little dark and gloomy, and, for no reason other than simple curiosity, Emma peered through the living room window.

What she saw didn’t inspire her with any confidence.  The furniture was pushed against the wall and the rug rolled up and standing in the corner.  There were a couple of open cardboard boxes sitting beside the couch.  Through the door to the hallway she could see another pile of items stacked against the wall.

It looked as though someone was preparing to leave.  Or had already left.

Emma looked down at Mr Smee in her arms and the cat craned his neck to look up at her and started purring as he did so.  He was entirely too trusting really, believing that she wouldn’t just abandon him here on the porch and that Killian wouldn’t abandon him altogether.

Well, no one was getting abandoned if Emma could help it.  She carried Mr Smee back across the street, through her own front door, and deposited him on the chair in the living room feeling a certain sense of righteousness about the whole thing.  Killian might have decided to renege on his promises to Mr Smee but she’d make sure he was cared for. 

Mr Smee gave her a less than appreciative look and ran down the hallway, the bang of the cat door telling her that he’d left the premises altogether.  Feeling rather deflated now, Emma sank down on the sofa and just…waited, although she wasn’t entirely certain what she waiting for.

Killian, she decided.  She was waiting for Killian so she could confront him about the fact that he’d just left Mr Smee to her care when he wasn’t even her cat.  And, sure, Killian had been staying most nights at her house lately, meaning that Mr Smee was used to hanging around now, but that didn’t mean she wanted Mr Smee there all the time.  Or even that leaving her in charge was a sound idea.  After all, there’d been an incident a couple of days previously when she’d fed Mr Smee some peanut butter toast, only to watch him wolf it down and then dissolve into great hacking coughs in the middle of the kitchen floor.

She’d panicked, thinking it couldn’t end well, and had been extremely relieved when Killian strolled into the kitchen, hair still wet from the shower, and laughed at her crouched over the coughing cat trying to work out what to do.

“Do cats get nut allergies?” she asked, watching as Mr Smee’s body spasmed again.

“No, but they do get fur balls.  I’d stand back, love.  And maybe move him off your rug.”

Emma had picked him up and deposited him out the back door where he’d immediately coughed up a hunk of orange fur and cat food and then sniffed it in an interested manner.

“I’ll clean that up, it’s my cat,” Killian volunteered, reaching for a paper towel.

“Thanks.  I’m um, glad you’re here.”

“To clean up fur balls?”

“For that.  Plus, you know, general reassurance regarding the incidence of feline food allergies.  And maybe just because.”

And Killian had laughed at that, and looked happy even while picking up Mr Smee’s disgusting offerings, and it just made Emma mad to recall it now because he’d lulled both of them, her and Mr Smee, into a false sense of security.

Of course he wasn’t sticking around.  What was there to stay for?

Emma stayed on the couch in her living room as the sky turned black and Mr Smee came back inside to settle down on his blanket and Tinkerbell arrived, following her own complicated route across the coffee table and over the back of the couch until she could settle beside Emma.

Really, Emma thought, it was time to give up on waiting for something that would never happen.  There was no sound of Killian’s truck returning home, no message from him, just…nothing.  She should give up and go to bed.

But when she stood up and looked one more time out the living room window there was still no truck in the driveway of the cottage opposite, but there was a faint glow of a light from somewhere near the back of the house.

Emma hesitated, unsure whether this was something she needed to check out or something she should just ignore.  If Killian had left town, then surely it was a little early for opportunist burglars to have turned up in search of vintage counter tops?  But, on the other hand, if he was attempting to sneak in and out without seeing her, then surely this was her one opportunity to confront him?

Armed with a flashlight from the hall closet Emma walked out the front door, accompanied by Mr Smee who had woken up and decided to join the party, and marched across the street for the second time that night. 

She was a little more hesitant this time, however, and considerably more aware that she was unlikely to find anything there that brought her any joy. 

Mr Smee seemed to have no such qualms and ran ahead, tail held aloft.  As she rounded the corner to the back of the cottage, Emma paused, wondering if she should have brought her gun.

Mr Smee, on the other hand, showed a remarkable amount of agility for someone of his age and infirmity and proceeded to jump up onto the windowsill and scratch at the glass.

Emma hissed, trying to stop the cat from alerting whoever the prowler was to their presence, but the cat ignored her.  Instead the window opened and he disappeared into the kitchen leaving Emma standing in the dark by herself.

It was tempting to run, but she forced herself on, knocked on the door firmly, and when it opened she didn’t even wait for a rather surprised looking Killian to invite her in but stepped over the threshold and promptly tripped on the ripped linoleum.

“Son of a bitch!” she exclaimed as Killian held out his hands to stop her crashing face-first into the floor.

“You alright there, Emma?”

“No.  Not…just…”  Now that Killian was actually here she couldn’t remember any of the speeches she’d prepared in her head throughout the day, the tones of which had run the gamut from off-hand enquiry to furious indignation.  It wasn’t fair that he still had this effect on her, even when she knew that things weren’t as great as he’d been pretending they were, even when he was carrying on with some secret agenda.  It wasn’t fair that her heart still felt more solid in her chest, and her mouth suddenly went dry and her fingers itched to run across his cheek and explore the recently exposed skin there, the whiskers just starting to re-grow.

None of it was fair, and Emma had had a lifetime of nothing being fair, and she was quite literally sick and tired of it all.  “Where’ve you been?” she asked, in a voice that sounded a little whiny and accusatory and more like that of the little girl who’d never got to have a birthday party or a playdate or even a real friend.

“It’s been a long day,” Killian replied, running his hand across his face and through his hair.  Now that she looked at him properly he did look tired, and a little blood-shot around the eyes, and Emma hoped he was OK.

It was actually a relief, she realised, to stop worrying about her own future and start worrying about someone else’s present.

“D’you wanna sit down?” Killian asked, gesturing to one of the vinyl-covered chairs placed beside the table.  Emma sat, placing the flashlight in front of her, and then watched as Killian sat down on the chair next to her, propping his head on a hand and squinting at Mr Smee who had jumped up to see if there was anything interesting on the table.

“So?” Emma prompted.

“Ah.  Well, my day makes for quite the tale, love.”

“Do share.”  Killian looked at her abruptly as she spoke, the words coming out bitter and broken.

He sighed, looked like he wanted to say something and then thought better of it, and then looked down at the floor for a moment.  Emma fought the urge to scream at him and tell him to just get on with it.

She’d been right all along.  It was better when they just left you in the middle of the night, or at the side of the road, or simply put you in a car and returned you to the foster system without even bothering to pretend that they were really taking you out for ice cream.

As brutal as it was, perhaps such treatment had its place.

“The accident put a spanner in the works, so to speak,” Killian said in the end.  “I mean, I thought I’d be alright…but the hospital bills.  They’ve been pretty steep.”

This was not at all how Emma expected the conversation to go and she simply said “Oh,” to cover up her confusion.  She was starting to get the feeling that she’d missed some rather serious clues as far as Killian was concerned.

“And I figured that I couldn’t have that debt hanging over me, plus I was going to need some cash if I was going to be able to…well that was the next part of the plan, anyway.  So I tried the bank, but somehow it doesn’t matter how respectable you try to look there’s not much they’re prepared to lend to the likes of me.”  Killian pointed to his face and pulled a rather wry expression.

“Sooo…” he continued.  “Plan B, I sold the truck.”

“Sold it?  But what are you going to do without a vehicle?”

Killian tilted his head to one side and started fiddling with the salt and pepper shakers sitting in front of them.  Mr Smee, attempting to join in the game, stretched out a paw and knocked one over, before giving it a push.  They all watched it roll off the table.  “I was hoping you might let me borrow…”

Emma cut in.  “You can’t take my car and leave!” 

He looked over at her sharply.  “I’m not…just for work.  I mean, there’ll still be some work for me at the boatyard.  Eric said that it’s not completely drying up and apparently I’ve proved my worth.  It’s just not enough to fund everything and pay the hospital.”  He waited for a beat, probably expecting another interjection from Emma, but she managed to hold her tongue long enough for him to continue.

“So a friend of that nurse’s, you know, Aurora, bought it off me and then…”

“And then?” Emma prompted, hoping they would get to the point.  Killian seemed to have other ideas, and started off on what Emma thought was a completely new conversation.

“I’ve been looking at your place, love…well, a little when you’re not around to look at instead.”  He gave her a smile which she fought not to return.  It wasn’t a fight she won.  “You’ve done so much with it and I thought that this place…” he waved a hand around, “…has so much potential too.”

“Uh-huh.”  Emma really wanted him to just get to the point.

“And then I went to see the landlord…”

“Mr Gold?”

“Gold.  Yeah.  And I asked if might consider letting me stay here for a while longer without paying rent, if I promised to fix the place up for him.  And he did…eventually relent.  But it took a while.  And that’s where I’ve been, mostly.  Sitting in the back of his shop drinking sherry out of a teacup and listening to his problems.  I think we might be friends now.”  Killian pulled a face and then looked over at Emma and when she didn’t say anything, still trying to make sense out of what he was saying, he carried on. 

“You know I don’t think I’ve had that much bloody sherry in an afternoon since the time Liam swiped some from Miss Darling’s flat and we drank it behind the bingo hall when I was 11.  Needless to say, it didn’t end well and he panicked when I collapsed and that’s when I found out the woman who worked the checkout at the Marks & Spencer’s on the corner of the High Street, the one who always seemed to be watching us extra carefully when we were in there, was actually my grandmother.  Mine, but not Liam’s.”

Killian gave a small shrug and Emma reached out and placed her hand over his, unsure of what else to do.  “Sorry, love.  This was supposed to be about telling you that I wasn’t a complete dead loss, not letting you know I was a pre-pubescent drunkard with a really fucked-up family.”

“I don’t think you’re a dead loss.”

“No, but…” he trailed off, and Emma wondered what was behind that _but_.  “I mean, I can see it from your point of view, I’m not blind.  And I just wanted to show that I was perfectly capable of offering something back to you.”

“I still don’t understand.”  Emma felt like she was being a little slow, but it just wasn’t clicking into place.  “Why all this…this struggle, just to stay here?  Why Storybrooke?”

Killian looked over at her with such sincerity that it was all she could do not to look away.  “Don’t you know, Emma?  Because of you.”

And all of a sudden it did make sense; all this had been Killian’s own gesture to her, grander than hers and somewhat muddled in the execution, but he’d meant it just the same.

It was only a moment between Killian finishing his sentence and Emma speaking again, but in that time something momentous shifted in Emma, pushing away the remains of the little girl who always held something back, who never fully unpacked her bag, who kept some of every meal hidden just in case.  Finally banishing the woman who didn’t think it wise to give her heart away just so it could be left on the side of the road by someone careless.

She knew what she needed to do, and she knew that it wasn’t a matter of simply asking Killian to lunch any longer.

“I am your love.  And not just because you keep telling me that I am, but because I want to be.  And I haven’t wanted to be anyone’s anything in such a long time because if I did that…if I let myself admit that they meant something to me, then that just gave them power over me.  The power to hurt me again.”

“But you, Killian…you’re the _only_ one who ever wanted me enough to stick around.  To actually fight to stay here, with me.  And that’s why I’m your love.  Because I think that makes you the right person for me.”

“Oh, Emma.”  Killian twisted his arm so their hands were now palm to palm on the table.  Emma curled her fingers around his and felt an answering squeeze back, warm and reassuring.

She reached across and ran the back of her fingers across his cheek, before leaning forward to kiss him, capturing his bottom lip with her mouth and tugging him forward.  It was so familiar, kissing Killian, and something warm and comforting settled in her chest. 

Emma wasn’t certain how long they kissed for; long enough that Mr Smee clearly grew bored of their antics and she heard the dull thud as he jumped off the table.  When she finally pulled away, putting a little distance between them she felt flustered, not really sure what to do next.  Her eyes drifted to Killian’s arm, still upturned on the table, the tattoo with Milah’s name clearly visible.

Emma traced the design with her finger.  She might always feel a little jealous of the woman who’d come before her, but it was clear to her that the only reason Killian was prepared to fight to stay with her now, was because someone had done the same for him long ago.  For that, Emma felt, she couldn’t help but be grateful.

“For a long time Milah was the star I followed,” Killian said, in a low voice.  “She kept me from getting lost in the darkness.  But you, Emma, you’re like the sun and I don’t have to be afraid of the dark creeping in any longer because I know you’re there to banish it.” 

Emma smiled at him, unsure what else to do.  There wasn’t anything she could add that would anywhere near as beautiful.  “And I just wanted to be worthy of that sun…of you,” Killian added.

“Of…oh!”  Emma suddenly understood.  “You thought I didn’t think you were good enough for me?”

“Emma I saw your…hesitation.  And I don’t blame you, love.  Honestly I don’t.  I mean, what did I have to offer you?  I was just passing through, really.  The only thing I had was a cat.  I couldn’t blame you, but I just wanted to show you that I wanted it to be better.  _I_ wanted to be better.  No more drifting around because I wanted my home to be here, with you.”

“You thought I wanted something better?  Killian, I only ever wanted you.  But I thought you deserved someone who actually knew how to love someone else.”  It was a sobering feeling, realising that the two people she hadn’t been kind to were Killian and herself.  She hoped it wasn’t too late to make amends.

“Emma,” Killian’s voice was warm and gentle, and he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear.  “You have so much to give, you just need to believe that.”

“And this?  It was all just a…a…grand gesture so I’d believe?”

“Well, I suppose.”  Killian looked a little uncomfortable, scratching at the back of his head.  “It just didn’t go quite according to plan.  For one thing the sherry drinking wasn’t something I’d counted on and then, when I left Gold I walked home from town trying to clear my head and figure out a way to tell you that would make sense.  But I couldn’t come up with anything.  And then I got back and well, you came over.”

“I was over earlier too, I was worried about you.  Well, Mr Smee and I were.  And when I saw all the furniture pushed aside in the living room…”

“Ah,” Killian held up a finger.  “There’s a reason for that.  I wanted to get a good look at the floors, see if they were worth sanding back.”

“Well I know there’s a good reason _now_.  Before I was just…well I thought you’d gone, and just left Mr Smee and assumed I’d take care of him.”

“Emma,” Killian’s voice was soft.  “I’d never leave Mr Smee, and I’d never leave you.”

“But maybe no more grand gestures.  Just, uh…little ones, perhaps.”

“Was there something you had in mind love,” Killian asked, shifting closer and licking his lips quite blatantly.

“Well…how would you like to spend tomorrow night alone with me, in a car, watching some dumpsters in the alleyway behind the butcher’s?”

“I…think I could probably manage that.  Maybe even enjoy it immensely.”

“Let’s not get carried away, huh?  It’s just some dumpsters.”

“No, it’s an evening alone with you.  I was promised that, and I’m very much looking forward to not having to share you with Mr Smee.”  He said the last part in a whisper, as though the cat might suddenly appear in the doorway and call him out.

Emma laughed, and shifted a little closer herself, tucking her knees in between Killian’s.  “Well, I don’t think you have to worry about him.  Although maybe you should thank him for not being able to keep to his own side of the street.”

“Maybe I should, indeed.  Because otherwise I might never have known that’s where the right person for me was hiding all the time.”

“Yeah.  OK.  Well, just remember that after tomorrow night.”

“You know there’s nowhere I’d rather be than with Emma Swan who is _definitely_ my love.”

Emma looked him right in the eyes, and replied with the only thing she could really think of.  “Good.”

And in case that wasn’t quite enough she leaned over and kissed him, just to show how very, very good it was.   

**Thanks for reading!**  
  



	8. Chapter 8

It was only after you lived with someone for a while that you really got to know them, Emma discovered.  She’d lived with lots of people over the years, of course, in and out of foster homes and group homes and all the stops in between, but she’d never been any place long enough to figure out what everyone was really like.

Or maybe she just hadn’t cared, sensing that no one in any of those places cared one jot about her.

But Killian she cared about; she cared about him like she’d never cared about anyone else.  It was just she was starting to figure out that the person who meant the most to you was the one who also drove you the craziest.

Perhaps, Emma thought, it was the fact that they’d never actually made a decision to live together.  It had happened gradually, Killian moving across the street into her cottage, prompted in part by the renovations he was doing to his cottage.  It was all very well sanding and varnishing floors, but it wasn’t an environment you could subsequently live in very easily, and it seemed stupid for Killian to camp out on the living room floor when she had a perfectly good bed at her place.

And they’d found other uses for the mattress on the bare living room floor anyway.

The orange Formica, too, had proven to be a very durable surface and Emma had been almost sad to see it go, although she’d enjoyed swinging a sledgehammer at it.  It was quite exhilarating to be allowed to let her frustrations out.

Although some of her frustrations undeniably stemmed from the fact that working alongside her, pulling a particular recalcitrant cupboard off the wall with a crowbar, was a shirtless and sweaty Killian. 

That time they only made it as far as the dusty kitchen floor.

So mostly everything was fine between them and they’d made it through, was it six months now?, without any major fights.

And that was a good thing, Emma thought, because she really wasn’t prepared to risk anything bad happening to whatever it was between Killian and herself.  She cared for him, a great deal, and if anything he’d become the best friend she’d ever had.

It was something that had been brought home to her when Mary Margaret had given birth to a son and named him Neil.  Sure, the spelling was different; some distant relative of Mary Margaret’s had borne the name and they’d decided to resurrect it.  But it was close enough to the name of the man who had trampled all over Emma’s heart and nearly ruined her life to boot to just make her uncomfortable.

And the worst part was that Mary Margaret and David were quietly oblivious, not just due to the fact that they were more than a little wrapped up in their son, but because, Emma had belatedly realised, she’d never told them that much of her history. 

Killian knew.  On a night when they’d made it as far as the bed she’d told him everything, lying in the dark, with Killian’s arms around her she’d quietly recounted the events of her teenage years and it hadn’t seemed such a heavy burden anymore.

Although the baby’s name made her stumble, a little.  Killian was there to catch her and he’d sat with her the night after they’d been to see the baby in the hospital as Emma had drunk a few too many glasses of wine and wondered out loud what on earth possessed them to pick such an old-fashioned name and, boy, was their kid going to resent them for that when he was older.

Even Mr Smee had given up waiting to see if anyone thought Emma should have a grilled cheese sandwich and might drunkenly forget to return the cheese to the refrigerator, but Killian stayed put and just let her get it all off her chest.

It was only when she reached the stage of realising that, perhaps, she’d started repeating herself for a second, maybe even third, time and had fallen silent, staring at the wood grain that Killian had taken her hand and led her into the bedroom and shown her that perhaps the babies name didn’t matter so much anyway.

So she was reluctant to rock the boat and risk losing the very real comfort she found in having Killian at her side.  And if that meant she had to bite her tongue when she discovered yet another cup of stone-cold, half-drunk tea lurking in a corner of the living room, or nearly ended up late for work because the bathroom cupboards had been re-arranged and she could no longer locate her contact lens solution, then so be it.

It was totally worth it.

Although the partnership she’d found with Killian was one thing when it involved renovating the cottage across the street, but quite another when he came up with a plan to buy it from Gold.  Months of hard work were starting to pay off and the place certainly looked a lot better than it had previously.  Killian was particularly proud of the way the kitchen had turned out having built the new cabinets himself.

“Marine plywood,” he’d said, as she’d run her hand across the new countertop after it was installed.

“Ah.  And that’s, um, durable?”

“Well it’s designed to be seaworthy, love, so I’m sure it can survive any kitchen disasters.”

“Hmm.  That wasn’t quite what I was thinking of,” Emma had replied, reaching out to hook her fingers into the front of Killian’s shirt. 

“You think there might be a better way of testing my handiwork?”

“Oh, I could think of…something…”  Emma had replied, and it was a very good something, which had proved that Killian’s hard work could, indeed, stand up under quite demanding circumstances.

It wasn’t as though she didn’t agree with Killian that it was a shame to let so much hard work, not to mention so many pleasant memories, remain in Gold’s possession.  And she could see Killian’s point that if he stayed with her it would be easy to maintain the place between tenants and prove a good source of income that wasn’t dependant on whether or not Eric had enough boat building jobs booked in.

It all made complete sense, even down to the point that it was a good investment for Emma herself to contribute to the deposit, but she still felt a little overwhelmed by the pace with which everything was happening.

Emma kept that to herself, however.  It would be a shame for things to fall apart just because she had cold feet.  Especially given what had happened at the beginning where her fear had nearly cost her Killian.  She’d worked too hard to lose everything now.

So they made their plans and Killian attempted to figure out a way to get Gold on-side, although he found it difficult to find a way to steer the conversation in the right direction.  “All he does is moan at me that no one in this place has any taste or, it seems, is willing to spend it in his shop.  It’s tempting to tell him to move, but it might defeat the purpose of bloody sitting there in the first place.  Bloody pillock.  And I have to say, I am right off the taste of sherry.”

Killian might have started to baulk at the sherry on offer, but he did still drink it, right up until the time he called in and Mr Gold suggested that they ‘just stick to tea’ and Killian found a card advertising the local AA meeting discreetly placed on his saucer.

After that, he decided to try another tactic in order to open the discussion and invited Mr Gold for dinner.  Emma wouldn’t have minded so much if she hadn’t been stuck with making small-talk with Mr Gold while the newly-reconciled and impossibly forgiving Mrs Gold kept wandering off to help Killian with the food.

Small-talk was not Emma’s strong suit, and she was almost glad when the silence was filled by Mr Smee’s querulous yowl as he arrived to join them.

“What on earth is that?” Mr Gold asked her, as Mr Smee examined the table they’d wedged into the living room for the evening, under Killian’s assertion that serving guests in the kitchen wasn’t really the done thing.  Emma was regretting going along with that plan now.

“Um…that’s Mr Smee…he’s just a little elderly.”  Mr Smee got up on his hind legs to paw at Emma’s lap and then, when she didn’t oblige, he turned around and looked over at Mr Gold inquiringly, before emitting a series of meows that got progressively slower and louder as they met with no response.  It was almost as though the cat was trying to make someone who only spoke another language understand him.

Emma watched as Gold visibly recoiled.  “Even if I wasn’t allergic, I couldn’t see the point in a creature like that hanging around.  Nothing more than a parasite.”

“Oh,” Emma said, a little taken aback at the vehemence in his words.  “Are you, um, badly allergic?”

“Terribly.”  Mr Gold sniffed loudly.

“Well, I’ll just put him in the kitchen, then.  I’m sure Killian will be able to find him something.”

And she had made sure that Mr Smee kept right away from Gold for the remainder of the visit.  She just hadn’t, when they’d moved from the table after dinner, stopped Mr Gold from sitting on the chair where Mr Smee’s blanket normally resided.  The blanket was gone, but a fine layer of orange cat fur no doubt remained.

The small talk hadn’t lasted very long at all.  Killian finally worked up to outlining his proposal to buy the cottage and Mr Gold managed, in between prolonged bouts of sneezing, to agree to the whole thing, before bundling Mrs Gold out of the house in a rather extraordinary show of haste.

“That seemed to go rather well, and rather quickly,” Killian commented, as they tidied up the kitchen afterwards.  “Did Mr Gold seem alright to you, love?  I thought he was looking a little red around the eyes at the end, there.  How much did he drink?”

“Um…not that much.  But, hey, he agreed didn’t he?  So we should go celebrate!”  Emma threw the dishtowel she’d been holding down decisively.

Killian seemed a little confused about the sudden turn in the conversation, right up until Emma grabbed him by the hand and led him down to the bedroom.  It was only in the morning, when they returned to tidy up everything that had been left out and Killian belatedly retrieved a very disgruntled Mr Smee’s blanket from the hall closet that he put two and two together.

But by that time the deal was done and all that was left was to thank Mr Smee for services rendered, and move on to the work of finishing up the cottage so they could let it once the sale had gone through.

Emma thought she had the hang of what was required with renovations now.  Occasionally her car disappeared when Killian needed to pick up some paint, and there was one time when she couldn’t even park her car in the driveway due to the pile of lumber, mistakenly delivered to the wrong side of the street, that had taken its place.  But mostly those things were temporary blips and there was no point getting unduly annoyed over them.

But then the great clear-out happened, and items long forgotten in the small crawl space under the cottage, or in the space between the beams in the roof were unearthed and, all of a sudden, Killian had quite the collection of items he was building up.

“I think I’ve come up with a way to get a bit of cash together,” he said to her one night, as she tried to figure out how to pour out cat food when the kitchen counter was littered with pieces of metal. 

“Oh?” Emma asked, mostly out of politeness as she considered whether or not she could put Mr Smee’s bowl on the floor and pour food into it, without him tackling her and attempting to knock the whole bag of cat food out of her hand.  It probably wasn’t a feasible idea.

“Yeah, look!”  Killian held up something round and shiny for her to look at.

“Um…”

“It’s one of the doorknobs, from the cottage.  They’re all brass, and so are the face plates for the light switches.”  Killian held up something rectangular and decidedly less shiny.  “But if I clean these up then I can sell them to that place that specialises in vintage house items and put in something plastic and cheaper and much, much easier to clean.”  With that he went back to polishing up his horde of treasure leaving Emma to try to appease a desperate Mr Smee with a handful of cat food hastily shoved in his bowl before he got carried away and mistook her fingers for an extra treat.

And it was fine; it really, really was.  All that stuff was only there temporarily, and if Killian had to borrow her car the next day in order to go and do whatever it was he was going to do with them, then that was fine as well, even if he did get held up and she left 15 minutes later than she’d wanted to.

None of it was cause for concern, and none of was worth losing Killian over.

So Emma held her tongue and everything was great because Killian was just so excited about the cottage and he was happy and, surely, that meant he was happy with her, too.

 

But then the pitchfork appeared in the hallway. And that wasn't something Emma had expected at all. She stubbed her toe on it walking in and trying to avoid Mr Smee's attentions because it was just there, lurking. Like it was stationed there on sentry duty, or something.

That was weird. And a little annoying. But still not something to get herself all worked up over.

At least that was what she told herself as she took a deep breath and rubbed her toe, wishing she hadn't been quite so diligent about taking her boots off at the door.

"So, uh...the pitchfork was over in the cottage, then?" Emma asked, when she found Killian involved in atête-à-têtewith Tinkerbell who was breaking all the rules and sitting smack bang in the middle of the kitchen counter.

It wasn't as though Emma thought that things were getting out of control per se, but things were certainly different. And maybe she was losing her grip on the situation just a little. 

"Yeah. It's amazing what people just up and leave behind. I figured it might be useful one day so I brought it back. I just need to find somewhere to store it...but it's OK there in the meantime eh, love?"

"Uh, yep." Even to her own ears, Emma's voice sounded unsure. "It's just, uh, it's got one prong missing?"

"It'll be alright, love. So dinner's nearly ready, I've made that curry you like, d'you wanna take a shower first?"

Emma figured the subject of the pitchfork was closed, and that was probably as it should be. So she kept quiet over the next few days and just kind of put up with it and tried to ignore the fact that whenever she walked down the hallway it was still stationed there, almost like it was mocking her.  Maybe that was taking it a bit far because it was just a pitchfork.  With a missing prong.

It probably didn't matter about the missing prong, after all.

David didn’t think so at all when she tried to explain the problem to him.  “It’ll still work fine, Emma.”

“But for what, exactly?  I mean, it’s not like we have any hay or anything.  It’s just there.  Also there’s an axe by the front door, now.  And an old door propped up against the wall where I park my car.  Every day there’s something new, but the pitchfork is still there.”

“Well…they might be useful items.  You know, if he doesn’t have a use for the axe…”

“You’re kind of missing the point,” Emma said, feeling more than slightly exasperated now.

“No, I get it.  You feel like he’s taking over.  Honestly, I do get it.  Until we can finally move into our new place, we’re drowning in baby stuff.  You just have to say something, Emma.”

Emma knew that was the sensible answer to her problems, but it just wasn’t the solution she wanted to hear right now.  So she huffed and folded her arms and refused to even answer David because he was right and he knew he was right but that didn’t change anything.

Because changing anything was the last thing Emma wanted to happen.  She wanted Killian to stay with her, stay happy with her, to not feel like she was pushing him away.  She just wanted all of that without the pitchfork in the hallway.

“Yeah…” David said, slowly.  “Just promise me one thing, Emma.  If you reach breaking point and murder Killian, don’t do it with the pitchfork.  Then I’ll know it was you.  Use something that’s not at all Emma-like, say…slow-acting poison or something.”

Emma felt her eyes widen slightly at that comment.  “Wow.  Seriously?  I just don’t know whether to be more worried that you’ve spent time figuring this out or offended that you think I’m only capable of random acts of violence and not a nice, well-planned murder.”

David shrugged.  “I figure it might help one day, plus I need something to do when I’m trying to get Neil to burp at 3am.  He’s not much for conversation yet, so it’s all a little one-sided.”

“The baby.  Yeah.”  If David noticed Emma’s reluctance to say his son’s name, then he didn’t mention anything.  And she’d get there, in the end.  Killian had said that it wasn’t something she’d just be able to deal with overnight, and he’d been so patient with her when she’d been upset over an old hurt that really had nothing to do with what David and Mary Margaret chose to name their son.

And that was the thing, really.  Killian was great and she felt like she should pay that back by just keeping her mouth shut about the pitchfork.

“So, uh, how do you think Mary Margaret’s going to murder you?” Emma asked, ready to move the conversation further away from her own problems.

“Oh.”  David smiled broadly, like a teacher had asked him a question he knew the answer to.  “Frying pan to the back of the head.”

“Oh, yeah.  I could totally see that.”

They walked a little further along Main Street and watched as Belle Gold crossed the street in front of them, heading into the library.  “Just promise me that you won’t keep it all bottled in like Mrs Gold did for so long.  I know she’s probably happier now she’s got a job that doesn’t leave her stuck in that gloomy second-hand store, but, honestly, I kinda expect her to break any moment.”

“So that’s who you’ve got pencilled in for the slow-acting poison?”

“Yep.  I figure she’d be the type to have it thoroughly researched.  We’d probably never be able to prove she even did anything.”

“Well, that’s possible.  Although Mr Gold is horribly allergic to cats.  I wonder how much cat fur it’d take to produce some kind of anaphylactic fit.  You know, if she wanted to borrow Mr Smee for an afternoon, I wouldn’t even hesitate to hand him over.”

“See I was right about your ruthless streak.  Just don’t prove me right about the bottling it up.”

Emma wanted to protest that comment, but she couldn’t think of a good comeback and decided silence was her only option.

But she was starting to feel like it wasn’t her only option at home any longer.  The pitchfork was still in the hallway and she’d just had enough of it.  Maybe she could just mention it, casually, and ask whether Killian had any plans for it or something?

It seemed like a sensible plan; just a friendly, adult discussion about things she’d like to happen around the house.  It just didn’t quite work out like that when she actually located Killian in the kitchen pouring over a bunch of dusty old books.

“Oh.  You, uh…find those under the cottage?”

“In the roof, love.”

“And, um…”  Emma tried to think of a way to phrase her enquiry that wouldn’t sound accusatory and downright nasty.  “You’re going to do what with them, exactly?”

Her tone wasn’t quite the casual, off-hand one she’d been striving for, because Killian lifted his head sharply and even Tinkerbell, who was sitting on a chair, sniffing a corner of one of the books, shifted her eyes to look quickly at Emma.

“I thought I would have a bit of a look over them first, love.  There’s some quite interesting stuff in here.  Look, this one’s a maritime history of Maine published in 1910.”

“OK. Well, awesome.  That’s just…great.”

“It doesn’t sound great.”

“But I said great, so I meant that.”  Emma really wasn’t in the mood to be questioned by Killian, not when she quite clearly _wasn’t_ saying anything about the books having to go.  Not when she was just going along with his plan, despite it being a little bit of an inconvenience to her.

Killian looked her up and down.  “You alright, love?  You’ve been a bit off for the last couple of days.”

And that was the moment she broke.  All the things she’d tried to tamp down, to keep inside came bubbling up.  And Emma knew what she was doing; she’d spent years in the foster system, after all, and the cardinal rule was that when things were good you didn’t rock the boat.

Now she wasn’t so much rocking the boat, as torpedoing it in the water.

“No.  No, I haven’t been _off_ , Killian, I’ve just been adjusting to things.  Great, hulking things like that damn pitchfork in the hallway.”

“Oh, well that’s just temporary…”

“Really?  _Really_.  Because you and I, we seem to have very different ideas of what temporary actually means.  I would have thought it meant the thing could find another home.  I don’t know…maybe we could send it to David and Mary Margaret as a housewarming gift?  Put a bow on it or something.  You seem to think it’s valuable enough.”

“So this is all about the bloody pitchfork?”  Killian’s voice, rising in surprise, was also laced with anger now.  All that did was make Emma see red.

“No.  No it’s not just about the _bloody pitchfork_.  Although I don’t understand why it’s here in the first place…”

“I thought it was shame to just bin it, Emma.”

Emma wasn’t in the mood to tolerate interruptions, and she kept on talking, her voice getting louder and her hands making fists at her sides.  “It’s missing a prong!  It’s a useless lump of wood and metal that people left behind because it’s junk.  It has no business taking up residence in my hallway and making me stub my toe on it!”

“Ah.  I see.  Your hallway.  Right, love.  I do get your point.”  Emma had been prepared for Killian’s voice to match the volume of hers but it didn’t; he was quieter now, and, mostly, sounded sad.

That was not at all what she wanted to happen and now the torpedoes had stopped she felt more than a little sad, too. 

“Look,” Emma said, trying to think of a way to wipe out everything she’d just said.  “It’s not _that_ bad.  It’s just a little surprising, you know.  I mean…I like having you here, but there’s been a lot of, you know…stuff that just kinda happened.”

“And it’s made you unhappy, love?”

“I didn’t mean it to.”  Emma felt a little defensive now; she’d been horrible and she’d never intended to be and it seemed like the far easier option to hide away in shame rather than deal with what had happened.

But she could see that sweeping it under the carpet wasn’t really an option.  The beauty of the foster system, Emma was belatedly realising, was that when things went wrong you got to sever all ties completely.  This was far harder and she wasn’t certain she could fix this mess any more than anyone could ever fix the damn pitchfork that had set the whole thing off.

“I just…I’m sorry.  This is something I am actually really terrible at, I think, and I’ve just…well, at least I didn’t kill anyone.”

“Who did you want to kill?” Killian asked, slowly.

“No one.  It was just something David said earlier.”  Emma didn’t think sharing the discussion about not stabbing Killian with the pitchfork was going to improve matters now. 

She sat down at the table, next to Tinkerbell who couldn’t even be bothered to be curious about what was going on now and who immediately disappeared out the cat door in search of more exciting company.

“So the murderous rampage is over?” Killian asked, and although Emma didn’t think there was much funny about their conversation, he smiled at her and she felt a little better. 

“I was never exactly murderous.  It’s just…you know.  It’s, uh…well I’ve had to adjust, I guess.  I mean, you moved here, and I love that, but it’s been a bit surprising.  There’ve been things that came with you, and now there’s an extra cat and tea, kinda everywhere…”  Emma stopped, sensing she was losing her audience, or, at least, doing nothing but sending him into a locked-down, defensive mode with all her chatter about the bad things. 

Trying another tactic, she pressed on.  “OK, see here’s the thing.  The cat, well I love your cat.  The over-stewed tea everywhere, I can live with that.  The pitchfork, that has to go.”

Emma thought that was a succinct summary of exactly where she stood, but Killian frowned a little and toyed with the page of one of the books in front of him.  “So, uh, which category do I fit into, love?”

“You?  The first one.  Definitely.”  And just in case it wasn’t clear, Emma added “I love you.”

“And Mr Smee?”

“And Mr Smee.  But the pitchfork is on borrowed time.” 

Killian reached over and took her hand, sighing audibly at the same time.  “I just wish you’d said how much it was bothering you.  How much all of it was bothering you.”

“Because I didn’t want you to think you were bothering me, I guess.  It seemed something so small and ridiculous, I thought I’d get over it.”

“But it got worse.”

Emma nodded, feeling ashamed now that she’d even started the thing in the first place.

“Just promise me, love, that you won’t keep stuff like this to yourself in future.  I can cope with the odd argument, but worrying about what you’re not telling me is a hundred times worse.”

“Yep.  I get that.  And I just, well I’m sorry it all got so out of hand.”

“Don’t be too sorry.  You know I quite fancy you when you’re yelling at me.”

“Really?  You are weird.  Luckily I can cope with weird.  Just not farm implements.”

“Uh-huh.”  Killian seemed to have lost interest in the pitchfork and his hand was working its way up Emma’s wrist as he attempted to negotiate the rather unforgiving cuffs of her uniform jacket.  “You know, Emma, the best part about arguing is that you get to make up afterwards.”  Killian looked up from what he was doing and cocked one eyebrow at Emma.

She didn’t take the bait immediately, however, instead adopting an expression that, she hoped, conveyed the polite interest of the slightly bewildered.  She held the pose, as though waiting for Killian to add more, right up to the point where she saw his tongue press against his teeth in frustration.

“So this is where I ask you to show me how this making up thing works, is it?”

“Well, I thought that you might want to.  You seem to have figured out the arguing part on your own, but a helping hand never goes astray, does it?”

“No.  It doesn’t.  And just what, exactly, would this helping hand entail?”

“I don’t know, love.”  Killian shifted forward in his seat, until their knees were touching.  “Maybe you should tell me what it is you want?  Now that you’ve broken the ice regarding the pitchfork, as it were.”

“Oh?  Is this where I yell at you some more?”

“Perhaps without the yelling this time.”

“OK.  No yelling then.”  Emma leaned forward, her lips touching Killian’s lightly in what was meant to be a teasing kiss, but his hand reached for the back of her head and she found she didn’t really have it in her to feel trapped by it.

Instead she attempted to press forward, as Killian’s tongue slipped into her mouth, hot and hungry.  She was frustrated that she couldn’t get any closer though, their knees in an awkward position and preventing any contact between the rest of their bodies.

Killian stood up first, Emma thought.  Maybe she did.  It just went to show that occasionally they could be in sync.  Their next moves were not nearly so well-coordinated, however, as Emma tried to lead them out of the kitchen and Killian tried to press her against the kitchen counter instead.

It looked like he might be winning the battle as Emma’s back connected with the sharp edge, but it triggered a memory of a previous encounter and she blurted out “It’s the wrong height.”

Killian, his lips pressing rather enthusiastically against her neck and tongue coming out to flick against her skin, didn’t immediately react. 

“Bedroom’s better,” Emma added, although she was starting to wonder if that was, in fact, true.  Mostly she just felt hot and trapped in the heavy jacket she’d worn to work and wanted to be rid of the annoying layers of clothing as fast as she could.

“I could just put in new cabinets,” Killian murmured against her skin and the statement made little sense to Emma until she remembered the dilemma about the height of the kitchen units.

“Not right _now_.  Bedroom.”

Killian grunted in a kind of annoyed way, but he did allow her a little space, and she started for the kitchen door.  A failed attempt to multi-task by removing her jacket at the same time, made her come to a halt in the hallway when her arms ended up trapped and she stopped to free them.

Other arms appeared, wrapping around her from behind and making the whole process a lot more difficult.  “A little help, perhaps?” Emma asked.

“Anything you want, darling.”  Killian’s voice was rough and his fingers were quickly working their way down the buttons of her shirt which was almost helpful, but left Emma still battling with the jacket that was stuck somewhere around her elbows.

“Jacket needs to go first.”

“This is the most ridiculous uniform,” Killian complained, although at least he had stepped back and was actually helping with the jacket now.  Emma told herself that she was happy with that, but, really, she was regretting the fact that his fingers hadn’t had time to make it inside her shirt.  Her skin felt hot and prickly and her nipples were pressed tightly against the inside of her bra.

Killian pulled her jacket free with a flourish that would have been more impressive if his elbow hadn’t connected with the propped up pitchfork, which started sliding towards them.  In a display of dexterity that Emma didn’t think she could have mustered right then, Killian dropped the jacket and grabbed for the pitchfork, stopping its descent, before turning to Emma with a grin as he righted it.

“See, love?  No problem.”

“Uh-huh.  And if you’d been impaled right then I would have only laughed a little.  OK, come on.”

“You seem very eager, love.”

“You promised me some kind of sex-makes-everything-better lesson.  Don’t bail on me now.”

“Nope.  Not bailing.”

“Good.”

Pitchfork temporarily forgotten, Emma led the way into the bedroom only to discover that was where Mr Smee was, curled up fast asleep on a once-black sweater she’d stupidly left on the bed that morning.

“Seems a shame to move him…” Emma said, as Killian, clearly feeling that it wasn’t a shame at all, summarily scooped up the sweater and Mr Smee and deposited them both on the hall floor shutting the door firmly behind them.

“He can’t keep it,” Emma tried to protest, but all she got in response was “Forget the bloody jumper,” which didn’t make a lot of sense due to the fact her brain wasn’t up to translating anything right then.  She could tell, however, that Killian didn’t seem to really care about her sweater, or about Mr Smee’s likelihood of being squashed by the pitchfork and he swiftly undid the last two buttons on the bottom of her shirt.

Emma felt this turn of events more than made up for the fact that her sweater was never going to be the same again.  Killian stepped closer and pushed the shirt off her shoulders and, more delicately that someone who could wield a crowbar so proficiently should be capable of, he traced the contours of her face , across her cheek, her chin and, finally, along her collar bone.  When his fingers reached the warm skin over her heart, he stopped. 

Emma reached up and placed her palm against Killian’s cheek.  “It wouldn’t be worth it,” he said.  “Losing you, over a bloody pitchfork.”

“I’m still your love.”

“Yes.  You are.”  He dipped his head and pressed his lips to where his hand had been just moments before, and Emma’s head fell back in response.  It felt so good to just give in to the pleasure after being so tightly-wound for so many days.  And Emma couldn’t really even remember quite why she’d let herself go so far down that road, now.  Not when Killian was doing such delicious things with his mouth, tongue dancing teasingly along the edge of her rather plain and serviceable bra.

She arched her back, pressing upwards, and his hands held her firmly in place, preventing Emma from just toppling over like the pitchfork.  She appreciated the support, and appreciated it even more when Killian took the opportunity to unclasp her bra, pushing the cup down with his nose as his mouth found her nipple sucking it into his mouth while his tongue worked the peak.

Despite Killian’s arms, Emma was having a little trouble standing now.  Desire blossomed between her legs, still encased in the heavy pants she’d worn to work and as much as she appreciated what Killian was doing with his mouth, she had other pressing needs that required a lot less clothing.

“Just, uh…just a sec.”  Emma tried to disentangle herself but she wasn’t completely successful and Killian’s hands kept their grasp on the back of her bra so that as she stepped away, she ended up merely being pulled back towards him.

“Can’t resist me huh?” he said, in a voice that sounded amused by the situation.

Emma didn’t have time to be amused, because she was a woman on a mission.  “I need to get these off,” she said, gesturing to her legs.

“Yes, you do love.”

“But you’re not helping!” A whiny note was creeping into Emma’s voice now, her frustration growing by the moment.

“Like I said; you just have to tell me what you want Emma.”  Killian went back to kissing her neck enthusiastically.

“Uh-huh.  Great.  So, step back and start taking those clothes off.”

Killian’s arms dropped and he did as she’d asked.  “That is quite the commanding voice there, Emma.  That the one you use at work?”

“Sometimes.  If people are being particularly difficult.”

“Well, heaven forbid I be _difficult_.”  Emma had been busy with her pants, boots, socks and panties and hadn’t paid that much attention to Killian, but now she noticed that he’d managed to remove his own shirt and the view was a little distracting.

And it only got more distracting as Killian pulled off his jeans and left them in a crumpled pile on the floor.  It was tempting to remind him that Mr Smee was fond of using any discarded items as a makeshift bed, but she judged that it wasn’t really the time to start talking about the cat.

Emma sat on the bed and waited, but Killian didn’t join her.  Instead he kicked off his underpants and just stood there, head cocked to one side looking at her. 

It was quite an arresting sight, and Emma took a moment to drink him in, the hollows of his collarbone, and the fine freckles across his shoulders and down his arms.  The covering of dark hair across his chest, becoming nothing more than a thin trail down his belly.  The fact he was standing there, half-hard already, hands on hips and just…looking at her.

“What’re you up to?” she asked.

“I’m waiting on instructions, love.”

“Oh.  Ohhh.”  Emma realised how interesting this could be, and she was tempted, for maybe half a second, to leave Killian exactly where he was and torture him a little.

But she wasn’t entirely convinced that she had it in her to show that much patience.  “Come here,” she said, patting the bed beside her.

Killian obliged, stretching out next to her, close, but not close enough that they were actually touching.

“Touch me.”  It wasn’t a command this time, it was more of a plea.  But it wasn’t met with any movement on Killian’s part.

“Where?”

She could have played it coy, said something like _I think you know where,_ or maybe even just said _everywhere_.  But her evening had improved dramatically since she’d started speaking her mind, and Emma couldn’t think of a reason to stop now.

“Here.”  She placed his hand at the juncture of her thighs.

“That’s direct.”

“I have found that it helps to be direct.”  Killian’s hand wasn’t moving and she wondered, for a moment, if he expected her to instruct him in every aspect of this encounter, but then she felt his hand lift, and just the barest brush of his fingertips along the seam of her sex and she sank back into the pillows ready to let a little contentment wash over her.

Killian pressed, lightly, a little above her clit and made small circular movements that made Emma’s legs fall open and she pressed up, seeking to set her own rhythm.

Emma reached up and pulled Killian down so he could kiss her, but, in case there was any uncertainty she whispered “Kiss me,” as she did so.

But Killian’s lips didn’t kiss just her mouth.  They worked their way back down her neck across her collarbone, and forged a trail down her chest, her stomach and finally met the point where his hand rested, a kiss replacing the pressure of his fingertips.

“Ohhh,” Emma breathed out, realising what the request to kiss her had set off.  Killian was, perhaps, taking a few liberties with her instructions, but they were liberties she was happy to allow him under the circumstances.  He could be quite a creative thinker when he put his mind to it.

And as much as Emma had enjoyed the attentions of his fingers, there were definite advantages to having Killian’s mouth on her, the hot press of lips and tongue prolonging rather than satisfying her need.

He shifted so that he was now lying between her legs, and she lazily ran a foot up his side to his shoulder, in the hope of letting him know how much she was enjoying it.  Emma’s hands were thrown up and over her head and, really, she thought briefly, that if anyone could see her in that moment she’d be a perfect illustration of wanton ecstasy.

But mostly she didn’t want to think about anything.  Mostly she wanted to float away on a tide of sensations, of Killian sucking on her clit, of his hands grasping her hips to hold her firmly in place, the scratch of his stubble and the slight tickle of his hair ghosting across her stomach.

Emma had utterly forgiven him for being a little slow to pick up on what she’d wanted him to do with the pitchfork, because this, this was clearly his forte, and he was nothing if not quick on the uptake when it really mattered.  Of course some of the blame, or praise in the current situation, could be put on her own shoulders, too.  But right then Emma was far more concerned with Killian’s actions.

And when it started to feel like too much, like she had reached the point where it was pull back or throw herself over the edge, she hesitated for just a moment, pressing her backside into the mattress in an attempt to slow things down.

“You alright, love?” Killian asked, looking up at her, his voice husky and warm.  His hand trailed down the outside of her thigh and it tickled her over-sensitive skin, prompting her to shiver.

“Yeah, but I’m ready for you to join my party, I think.”

“Think?”

“Know, then.  Come up here.  I want you inside me when I come.”

Killian barely suppressed a smug grin.  “I like it when you’re direct.”

He did as she asked, however, crawling up the bed so they were almost eye to eye, his erection pressing against her centre in a way that jump-started her desire again.

Emma rolled her hips, trying to get some friction and, for a moment, she was satisfied with their new positions.  But Killian kissed her, just below her ear, a spot that always make her legs turn to jelly and she thought that perhaps there was a way to make everything just a little bit better.

She reached between them, as best she could, and grasped Killian’s erection in her hand enjoying the feel of the smooth skin as she stroked, up and down.  Emma watched as Killian closed his eyes appreciatively at her touch, before pressing his open mouth against her collarbone again.

“I did say ‘in me’,” she reminded him.

“Uh.  Yes.  You did, love.” 

Emma pulled her hand back and watched as Killian lifted up to position himself against her entrance, and then, in one, hot, slick, slide, he was inside her and a wave of relief washed over her as she pulled him down and pressed a thigh to his hip. 

“That feels so much better.”  Emma gave a little push with her hips and Killian made a guttural noise deep in his throat.

“Just…uh.  Hold your horses for a moment.”

Emma smiled, smoothing a hand down his back and feeling rather pleased with herself.  She liked it when Killian was only just holding on to his self-control, she liked that she was the one to do that to him.  It gave her a great jolt of self-confidence and pleasure.

And then he started to move and the pleasurable feelings concentrated somewhere other than her mind as Killian pressed forward, hovering close to her body, the hair on his chest brushing her nipples.  She tilted her pelvis and ground against him, not at all ashamed of her absolute desire to have that orgasm she’d been so near before. 

Emma was close.  Very, very close.  The need spread outwards and turned her legs rigid and made her breath catch in her throat as she pressed and pressed, meeting Killian with each stroke and every time adding a new spark to the fire that threatened to burn her from the inside out. 

It was a death she’d willingly embrace right at that moment.

Toes curled and mouth pressed silently to Killian’s shoulder, she came with a shudder, slowly coming back to awareness and feeling the heat of Killian’s body on hers, the way his arm supported her neck, his hand gripping her backside and, best of all, the slide of his penis as he continued to move gently inside her.

The thought of that alone was almost enough to make Emma orgasm again.

“Do I get to make a request?” Killian asked, voice raspy and low.

“Yep.”

“Switch?”

“OK.  Yeah.”  With that Killian tightened his hold on her and they slowly rotated, a not quite perfect manoeuvre that resulted in him sliding out of her as she ended up straddling his groin.

In no mood to draw things out, Emma knelt up and, after some positioning, sank back down onto Killian’s erection as he made a satisfied noise below her.

“Now that’s a great view,” he mumbled, as she pushed sweaty tendrils of hair out of her eyes and tried to find a rhythm that hit all the right spots.

Leaning forward Emma placed her hands on Killian’s chest and pressed her hips forward and back a few times, feeling her heart quicken as she felt another orgasm building.

Normally Emma wasn’t particularly inclined to make conversation during sex, but she did occasionally make exceptions.  “I’m glad I decided to let you show me now.”

“Show you what?” 

“Show me about…oh…how great this whole making up thing was…is…”  Emma’s train of thought was lost as Killian’s hand drifted from her hip down to rest on her belly, a slight pressure just above her far too sensitive flesh, that urged Emma onwards and it wasn’t long before she felt a burst of bright, hot pleasure wash over her.

That seemed to spark something in Killian and her pressed up on one elbow, his hand now resting on her backside, as his movements sped up and became stronger.  “Your arse, love…love your arse…” he murmured, as Emma put her hands on his shoulders, pressed her forehead to his and just went along for the ride.

And, after a few, rough thrusts upwards Killian tensed beneath her, his hand squeezing in a faltering rhythm, before falling limply away.  He grasped the back of her head instead, kissing her deeply and making Emma feel satisfied and all round content with the way things had turned out.

After a few moments, they disentangled themselves and lay side by side on the bed.  “You know,” Emma said, reaching over to trace a fingertip across Killian’s chest.  “It’s a sweater.  A jumper’s completely different.”

Killian turned to her, smiling broadly.  “ _That’s_ the one thing on your mind right now?”

“Well…” Emma gave a one-shouldered shrug.  “I didn’t get a chance to say before.  I had other… things on my mind.”

“Other things to say?”

“Yeah…maybe.”

“I like the things you had to say.”  Killian rolled over so he was facing her, and playfully nipped at her shoulder, before twisting some of her hair around one of his fingers.  “So…what is a jumper, then?  In your odd little vocabulary?”

“You know…like a skirt, with a bib thing...you wear over a shirt.  Good for school uniforms and the like.”

“Oh.  I think that’s a pinafore, love.”  Killian sounded pleased to have dredged up that term.

“Mmm.  Not in my world.”

“Well, I’m just glad that your world still includes me.”

Emma looked over at Killian sharply.  “You thought I might…”  She didn’t even want to finish the sentence, much less contemplate what he meant.

“Well I wasn’t certain, love.  When you said all that stuff earlier about not being able to adjust to all the changes, I was worried.  I realised, suddenly, that perhaps I hadn’t checked that you were fine with all of this, with buying the cottage…with putting money into the cottage yourself, with...with…”

“With you?”

“I didn’t know.  I got caught up in the excitement of being part of something, I think.  I hadn’t had that for a long time.  But I feel like I should have known, but I didn’t.  And I’m sorry for that.”

“I don’t blame you.  I didn’t really know myself that I wasn’t doing so well with it all.  I mean, I liked aspects.  The bit with the crowbar was pretty hot.  Even if you are still a little foreign.  And weird.”

Killian laughed at that.  “I could say the same about you.”

“Nope.  You can’t.  I’m not the one trying to persuade Elsa to stock…what was it?  Oh yeah, crumpets.”

“Who said that?”

“Anna.  You know she can’t keep anything to herself.  She still thought it was better than rotten fish.”

“Luckily, I have all the crumpet I want right here.”  He punctuated the last word with a playful tap to Emma’s ass.

“Hey, why am I getting compared to a pastry?”

“It’s more like round dough…”

“You’re not really selling the comparison, you know!  I think it got lost somewhere in translation.  If you’re not careful I will take to you with the pitchfork, despite David warning me not to.”

“Oh.  That’s what you were talking about earlier.  He suggested you didn’t commit murder in your own home?”

“He said if I used the pitchfork, he’d know it was me.”

“Mmm.  You’d be better to…I don’t know.  You know you should probably try to stage a drowning or something.  An accident would be a better cover up, and if there's no actual body it’s even harder to prove.”

“Really?  OK, you and David make a good pair.”

“But you and I,” Killian said, leaning right over Emma so they were almost nose to nose and all she could focus on were his eyes, navy blue and serious.  “We make a great pair.  And just in case that got lost in translation, I love you very much Emma Swan, and I promise that you can tell me anything, any time, even if it is a bunch of made up gobbledegook that you think passes for a coherent dialect.”

“Wow.  That’s some speech.  I love you, too, you know.”

Killian’s eyes looked a little less serious, and he dipped his mouth to hers and kissed her, very slowly and deliberately, and she thought that perhaps he did know even if she wasn’t always the best at telling him.

**Thanks for reading!**


	9. Epilogue

“You know how they say no man is an island?” Emma said, wiggling her toes against the edge of the bathtub and admiring the light glinting off the bright red polish that had been freshly applied during her pedicure the day before.  “I think I might be.”

“A man, love?” Killian asked, from his spot by the bathroom sink.  Emma glanced over, not sure if he was joking or distracted, and there was the ghost of a smile across his lips, although he mostly seemed intent on his reflection. 

“An island.  Look, that’s definitely a land mass.”  Emma poked at her belly which protruded up and out of the water. 

“I think you’re being a little hard on yourself.”

“Not as hard as some other people are being,” Emma grumbled, poking her stomach again.  “I’m not the one who wants my entire pelvis to disintegrate in the next two weeks.  I’ve been in here for half an hour and I still ache.”

“I noticed you were up early, love,” Killian said with a note of concern in his voice.  But Emma wasn’t thrilled with the idea of being the reason for his concern.  It was bad enough that she was starting to feel like an object rather than a person, she didn’t need to be coddled on top of that.  More to the point, she kind of wondered if she’d done this to herself.

After all the baby had been her idea, although it wasn’t a fully realised one for a long time, just a nebulous collection of thoughts that rattled around her head.  Feelings that were not quite ready for her to express to anyone, but strong enough that she couldn’t ignore them forever.

They were prompted, Emma thought, by the sudden transition of Mary Margaret and David’s son from a squalling, puking little bundle into something that resembled a baby in that at least he knew how to smile and coo and play endless rounds of ‘oops I dropped the thing, now you pick up the thing so I can drop it again’.

At least the transition had seemed sudden to Emma.  One day Neil had been less than interesting and the next he glanced in her direction and she was a goner.  All this time, and all the memories she’d tried to block out from the group homes and the foster families she’d been shoved into and she’d maybe ended up forgetting a little too much.

Because she’d forgotten, somewhere along the way, that she actually liked babies and toddlers.  More importantly, she’d forgotten that they liked her back.  Usually just her hair, at first, they’d grab a fist-full of it and pull, hard.  Neil was no different in that respect. 

But once the fascination with the hair was gone they were still pretty happy to see her.  Emma hadn’t remembered how nice that joy at her mere presence had felt, how much it had meant to her at a time when she didn’t have a lot of nice at all.

And so she’d been up for babysitting, on a few occasions anyway, at first merely sitting in Mary Margaret and David’s new house, hoping that no shrieks sounded through the baby monitor, but eventually she’d been one of the few trusted to bring Neil home with her.

Tinkerbell didn’t seem to like the baby at all.  She’d sniffed him, no doubt intrigued by the overall milky scent he gave off, but one wave of a chubby hand in her direction and she’d been straight out the cat door as fast as she could manage.

Killian was a little less obviously wary, but still hovered behind the sofa for a while before deciding that maybe it was safe to sit down next to Emma and her charge and being rewarded with a tooth-less grin from Neil.

“You’re quite safe,” Emma had assured him, but Killian had just raised his eyebrow.

“Are you talking to me, or him?”  He pointed to Neil, who took that as an invitation grab the finger on offer with a throaty gurgle of pleasure.

“Well you originally, although I’m not sure now.  How do you feel about him using that finger to teethe with?”  Emma watched as Neil tested just how firmly attached the digit was.

“Oh, I could put up with it.  Even though I’m not a natural at this like you are.”  Killian wiggled his finger much to Neil’s obvious delight.

“You think I’m a natural?”  Emma tried to remain casual about the question, busying herself with wiping the seeming endless stream of drool from Neil’s mouth with the blue and white striped bib fastened around his neck.

“Of course I do, love.”

Emma hadn’t pressed further, probably she’d been distracted by the state of Neil’s diaper anyway.  But she’d remembered Killian’s words, and, more importantly the feeling that accompanied them as she wiped drool and inhaled the suspicious odour.

When she recalled it now, it was the same night that she asked the question, although given her tendency to keep things bottled up she doubted that she’d really acted that quickly.  Still, it didn’t matter because she had, in the end, found the courage to ask Killian what she really wanted to know.

“Have you ever thought about having kids?”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth Emma realised, a little belatedly, that while it was a topic she’d been pondering for a while there was every chance she’d blind-sided Killian.  But, to his credit, he’d answered without missing a beat.

“Yes.”

While it was the answer she’d hoped to hear, there was one other thing she needed to ask.  “With me?”

“Yes.”

It was tempting to leave it alone after that, to take Killian’s words and tuck them away for a day when she needed a reminder that she was worth loving, that he wasn’t going to change his mind and leave her when she wasn’t looking.  But Emma wanted something more these days, wanted to prove that she could give as much as she’d been given.  Show that she had some hope for the future, even when she still doubted herself from time to time.

“So then, I think, maybe, we should try?  Or just…not, not try…and see what happens?  Because, maybe…maybe it might?”  As brave as she was attempting to be Emma hadn’t completely shaken off the maybes, almosts, perhaps-next-times that had ruled her life for so long.

But luckily now she had someone who didn’t mind that she still needed to have the comfort of an open door, a way out, a path down which she could backtrack if it all got too real.

“I think that’s a grand idea, love.”

And that was that, really.  Three months later, two pregnancy tests and the not, not-trying was a success, although it took a while for Emma to believe it was really happening and it wouldn’t all just disappear in a cloud of smoke on her.

But even though nothing had gone wrong and she had, in fact, made it to the stage of being two weeks to go, or, as she kept having to explain to old ladies in the grocery store, yes-I-do-look-like-I’m-about-to-start-labour-but-I’m-not-due-for-a-while-yet, Emma felt as though dwelling on her symptoms excessively might just be considered sour grapes.  It was time to change the subject.

“I made you tea when I first got up and left it on the kitchen counter,” she said.  “Thought it would have time to stew properly for you.  Did you find it?”

Killian grinned at her in response.  “I will admit that I did check the kitchen bench just in case you’d thought of me.”

“Do you think it’ll be weird that the baby will have to be bilingual?”  Emma shifted slightly, aiming to make her hips more comfortable and ending up only narrowly avoiding sending water sloshing over the edge of the bathtub.  She was huge and uncomfortable and clearly at risk of causing a bathroom flood.

“I wouldn’t exactly term it bi-lingual, love.  Just…I’m sure he’ll understand whatever weird term of the day you decide to throw in.”

“You seem pretty sure it’s a boy.”  Emma wasn’t so convinced, having heard just about every variation of every old wives’ tale going to explain why she was definitely having a boy, or absolutely positively carrying a girl.  Everyone had an opinion on the matter but Emma herself, having decided she didn’t want to know, had tried very hard not to assign any gender to the baby at all.

She wondered if that was a sign her maternal instincts weren’t all they needed to be, but quite frankly, found she didn’t have the energy to dwell on it.  She’d had months of worrying what would happen when the baby came and now all she could do was just hope that she made it through the next couple of weeks.  She’d have to deal with the rest when it actually happened.

And maybe that was the real start of motherhood, anyway.

Killian shrugged.  “I just have a theory.”  He looked enigmatic enough that Emma was on the verge of asking him if he’d been charming random sonographers in the hope of getting insider information, when she was distracted by something waving past the edge of the bathtub.

“Did you leave the bathroom door open?” Emma asked, as the tail continued its parade around the bathtub, followed by a pair of ears that popped up in the vicinity of Emma’s toes, and then the entirety of the large black cat in question suddenly loomed into view on the corner of the bathtub where it landed unsteadily and made Emma a little worried about whether or not she was about to have company in the bath with her.

“I couldn’t take the pitiful yowling, love,” Killian said, a little sheepishly, as the cat turned in a precarious circle, his tail almost dipping into the bathwater.

“He does know you have a terrible soft spot for him.”

“Well Captain Hook deserves love, too.”

The cat called Captain Hook tried to walk along the edge of the bathtub, perhaps in the hope of getting a scratch under the chin from Emma, but he clearly couldn’t find a way to navigate her elbow, and he settled on reversing his steps rather than attempt another turn on the narrow edge.

He wasn’t the world’s most elegant cat, but, like everyone in their house, he’d ended up there because he had nowhere else to go.

Certainly, they’d never intended to replace Mr Smee, whose long list of health problems had finally caught up with him about a year and a half earlier.  He’d gone from being a constant presence in the house to just a small, empty shell of fur barely able to lift himself off his blanket on the chair, and no longer interested in the world at large.

Emma had just assumed they’d nurse him through it but there came a time when the kindest thing to do was to let him go.

It had been a heart-breaking day which Emma had no desire to re-live, not even in memory.  Occasionally, when she passed the little wooden box that contained Mr Smee’s ashes, the one still on the mantelpiece in the living room because they’d never quite decided what else to do with them, she liked to think about the more pleasant memories she had of Killian’s cat, but she’d never purposefully dwell on the day they said goodbye to him.

Consequently, there had never been any plans to find another cat.  Or, at least, Emma assumed there hadn’t been.  Tinkerbell was still there whenever they needed someone to remind them that it was dinnertime, or to make sure there was decent clump of cat fur lurking in the corners of the hallway, or for the times when all Emma wanted was to stroke the warm fur on her cat’s back and be rewarded with a purr.

But the cardboard box had arrived home, just like countless boxes full of all sorts of…well, if Emma was being charitable about it she’d say stuff, and when she wasn’t, crap.  This one was different.  The box jiggled a bit, and made some pitiful mewling noises and generally didn’t seem to be filled with the usual assortment of interesting objects Killian dragged home with him.

“What’s that?” she’d asked, even though the sounds coming from the box were making it increasingly easy to guess what the contents were.

“Um…oh, Leroy found that.  Round the back of that empty shed, you know…the one that used to be part of the cannery and it’s got that section that rotted away last year…” 

It was obvious to Emma that Killian was stalling and she watched the box, concerned that it was going to wobble right off the kitchen table in the time it took him to spit it out.

“So, someone dumped a box of…?” she prompted, as another high-pitched mewl sounded from the cardboard depths.

“Kittens, love,” Killian said, a little sheepishly.  “Ah, but you don’t have to worry.”   Emma’s hand had started moving towards the flap of the box, but she paused at Killian’s words.

“I don’t?”

“Leroy took the girl one for Astrid, and, uh, the mayor’s son took the ginger.”  Killian sighed.  “He looked like quite a handful.  The lad’s going to name him Thor.”

“Thor?  That’s a terrible name for a cat.” 

“I know.”  Killian nodded in agreement.  “And he was quite keen to have this one too…”

“But you laid claim to it first?”

“Other way round.  We lost him…for a while.  It was only after the mayor took her son home that we found him again.  He’d gone to sleep in my toolbox.”  Killian finally pulled back a flap and a small black face appeared in the gap, before Killian reached in and lifted out the rest of it, which really wasn’t much at all.  It was a scrap of black fur with enormous paws that looked like they belonged to someone other, bigger cat.  In contrast to the rest of his black coat, the front left paw was white.

Emma’s heart did a weird jolting thing that she mostly tried to suppress.  “That was convenient.”

“I would have let them take him, but the boy wanted to call him Loki, and he just doesn’t look like a Loki.”  Killian brought the kitten up to his face and it meowed in agreement.

“Nope.  That is…an even worse name for a cat.”  And then Emma caught sight of something glinting against the cat’s fur which, on closer inspection, appeared to be a nametag far too big for any creature the size of this kitten.  “You, uh…got him a collar?”

“I called in at the pet shop on the way home.  I thought that if I got him a basket maybe he wouldn’t upset Tinkerbell…”  Killian looked at her hopefully, and the kitten wriggled around a bit in his hands.

Emma decided to worry about Tinkerbell’s hurt feelings later on.  “So, uh…what is a good name for him, then?” 

“Captain Hook.”

“Really?”

“Yes, see.  Don’t you think he has the look of one?”  He held the kitten’s white paw and moved it in, what Emma supposed to be, a kind of threatening motion.  “Aaar!”

“Zombie?”

Killian sighed.  “Pirate, love.  Don’t you think it fits?”

“Well…”  Emma tried to think of a way to be diplomatic.  The kitten was kind of cute and she would have thought maybe Socks or Mittens was a more appropriately kittenish name. 

But Killian was pretty cute, too.  And he seemed quite attached to the name he’d picked.  A name which no kitten anywhere, _ever_ , should be stuck with.

Screw diplomatic. Emma was going to have to be blunt.  But before she could open her mouth, Killian, no doubt, having decided her silence clearly meant she simply needed more persuading, spoke up.

“And it’d be a shame, you know, to waste the collar now I’ve bought it,” Killian added, and Emma realised she’d totally been had.  She’d heard that line before, after all.

She’d said it multiple times about Tinkerbell.

Sighing, she let herself slump a little in defeat.  “Fine.  But that’s the last thing you name.”

“OK.  Agreed.”  Killian rewarded her with a big smile and then held the kitten out for her to take and that was the moment she realised that she’d been so caught up with its name that she’d somehow forgotten to actually agree to keep the cat in the first place.

Although it was probably best that they keep him.  After all, waifs and strays had to stick together.

And that was how she’d found herself holding the kitten with the ridiculous name while Killian went back outside to retrieve the newly-purchased basket from the car.  He also came back in holding something else, which he held up to Emma’s face as she tried to dissuade Captain Hook from climbing into her hair.

“The bloke in the pet shop said to put this in the basket and he’ll be out like a light,” Killian explained, less than helpfully.

“That’s a…clock.”  Emma’s attempts to untangle the claws from her hair weren’t going so well and she was a little distracted.

“Yeah.  I found it in the roof when I cleared out the cottage.  I was going to see if Gold’d give me anything for it, but I think the fact the glass is cracked probably lowers the value.”

Killian inspected the face of the clock and Emma decided now was not the time to question the ethics of trying to sell Mr Gold a clock that may or may not have been his property in the first place.  She had other matters that were far more important.

“A clock?”

“Because it sounds like the heartbeat of a mother cat, love.  Or, at least, that’s what the bloke in the pet shop said.”  Killian shrugged, while Emma made another attempt to remove the kitten from her hair.

“Yes but don’t you think that giving a clock to a cat you’ve named…Captain Hook, is a bit much?”

“What?  Oh.  No, I think it’ll be fine.  The man in the shop was quite insistent it’s the best method.”

Emma figured that if neither Killian nor ‘the man in the shop’ could see the problem, then she wasn’t going to point it out. 

“He’ll be fine, love.  I’ve got it all under control,” Killian assured her, as he wrestled the kitten away from Emma’s hair and tucked him under his arm.  Captain Hook mewled in protest, but didn’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter.

He did, however, have a choice about whether he liked being shut in the bathroom with only a ticking clock for company.  And he made his choice loud and clear by yowling at the top of his lungs, long into the night and past the point where even Tinkerbell’s curiosity about what was causing the commotion behind the bathroom door had stopped and she’d curled up and gone to sleep on the bed in the spare room.

Killian and Emma were not sleeping, far from it.  The yowling was accompanied with a lot of banging on the door, and the occasional thud as bottles of shampoo were knocked into the bathtub, followed by the rattling of the litterbox being emptied onto the floor.  Every so often there was an odd skittery noise which, after the first couple of occurrences, Emma figured was the sound of tiny claws hitting the surface of the bathtub as their owner ran around inside it, as though it was some kind of cat-sized racetrack.

In short, Captain Hook was proving to be a pain in the ass and Killian was far from having anything under control.  Although he wasn’t above pretending, it seemed.  As Emma lay in the darkness waiting for the next round of bumps in the night to start up, Killian was doing a good job of acting as though he was having no such difficulties.

It was a good job, but not a perfect one.

“I know you’re listening out for him, too,” she said, turning her head towards Killian.

“Sssh, sleeping,” he replied in a way which suggested his words weren’t in the least bit true.

“But your cat’s not.”

“I don’t see why he’s…”  Killian’s words were cut off by the sound of a large crash in the bathroom, followed by some mournful yowling and something hitting the door, hard.  “Oh, bugger it.  I’ll go and sort him out.”

Killian left and, now that the only sounds coming from the bathroom were his whispers to the cat, no doubt urging him to be quiet, Emma relaxed a little and promptly fell asleep.  Whatever Killian was doing to ‘sort him out’ must have worked, because the next thing she knew it was morning.

And there was a kitten sleeping in her hair.

“You know,” Emma said in the direction of where she guessed Killian’s head was, her view of the other pillow mostly blocked by the blob of purring black fur sharing hers.  “I usually like to be able to lift my head off the pillow when I wake up in the morning.”

“I think what you’re not appreciating, love, is that you had any sleep to wake up from.  At least he is not destroying the bathroom any longer.”

“There is that.”

“And he’s got his basket, maybe he’ll take to sleeping in that.”

Somehow, it never had quite worked out that way.  Captain Hook, or Hook as Emma often shortened it too despite the poor cat being lumbered with a nametag that was clearly meant for a dog in order to fit his full title on it, shunned his basket utterly, but was overly entranced with Tinkerbell.  She, in return, could think of nothing worse than being followed around by a yowling baby who always wanted to play.

Their first encounters resulted in a lot of hissing from her side, followed by much sad mewling from his.  Subsequent meetings followed much the same pattern, and even Tinkerbell administering the odd swat in Hook’s direction didn’t seem to deter him from trying to be her shadow.

Eventually peace seemed to break out and Emma figured everything was settled the day she found Tinkerbell curled up in the basket Hook had abandoned, and the kitten curled up on the floor beside it, glad to be allowed to be near to the object of his affection.

After that it was Tinkerbell’s basket and Emma was stuck with occasionally finding a cat nesting in her hair at night.  Of course what was manageable when he was a tiny kitten, was slightly more difficult when he got bigger.  And he was a lot bigger now.  He was considerably larger than Tinkerbell and the nametag that had once looked ridiculously large hanging around his neck, looked almost as though it belonged there now.

Although he never had grown into his paws.  And that was part of the problem now; balancing on things was not really a skill that came naturally to Hook and his movements along the side of the bathtub were looking increasingly precarious and he tried to figure out exactly how to get himself from one end to the other.

“Maybe you should get him down?” Emma suggested, watching as Hook lifted a paw, waved it in the direction of Emma’s leg as though he was considering using her as a conduit, and then put it back down again.  “Because I’m really starting to feel like an island now.  I think he’s trying to make land.”

“Oh, he’ll be alright, love,” Killian replied, sounding distracted and not at all worried that Hook was either going to end up drenched or attempt an unwanted bump-crossing.  Emma was about to protest that things were slightly more dire than Killian seemed to think, when he started on a completely different topic altogether.  “Do you think I should shave?”

It was an out of the blue question but one that made Emma stop worrying about a cat landing in her bath and start worrying about Killian’s state of mind.  If there was one thing that made her nervous it was Killian shaving.

The first time she’d witnessed the phenomenon had been when he’d tried, unsuccessfully, to get the manager of Storybrooke Savings & Loan to give him a loan, the time she’d thought he’d been trying to leave her and Mr Smee without saying goodbye.

Now, however, she’d seen it enough times to understand that it wasn’t just a spur of the moment decision Killian made when he felt like a new look, but a sign that his mind was working overtime telling him he needed to look respectable because deep down he wasn’t sure he ever could be.

The bank manager, perhaps, might care about things like this, but Emma didn’t.  And she was pretty certain that the baby wouldn’t either.  “I don’t think it’s necessary.  I mean…the baby won’t know any different.”

“Mmm,” Killian said, in a way that suggested he was stalling for time rather than actually agreeing with her.  “I don’t know, love.  I just thought perhaps…” 

“I’m pretty sure they’ll let us take the baby home no matter what we look like,” Emma said, keeping one eye on Hook who had decided the edge of the bathtub was the perfect place for an impromptu wash behind his ears.  “And, anyway, it’s not like they even really know us in Camelot; I don’t think we have to dress up just to deliver in their hospital.”

Killian shrugged and gave his face another long, hard look.  Hook got bored of balancing on the edge of the bathtub and jumped down only to then immediately jump up onto the edge of the sink and give Killian a particularly pointed look.

To his credit, Killian understood what that meant and immediately turned on the tap so Hook could happily swish his paw through the running water.

“Are you sure about it, love?” Killian asked.

“What?  Sure that the amount of water he’s wasting is going to use up precious resources.  Absolutely.”  She gestured to Hook who was now attempting to stop the water going down the drain, not realising that in the process his head was directly under the running tap.

“No.  About the hospital.  You don’t want to just use the local one?” Killian asked, stepping back as Hook resurfaced and shook himself like a dog, sending a fine spray of water over the bathroom mirror.

“Definitely not.  And you should probably lift him down before he makes more of a mess.”

Killian looked over at her, which was a mistake on his part because Hook had gone back under the water and Killian was splattered when the cat shook himself again.  “See?” she said.  “I’m right.”

“Are we discussing the hospital or the cat, love?”

“Both.  I’m right on both counts.”

And she was, despite her occasional misgivings about Killian’s ability to actually be somewhere within driving distance when she needed to get to the hospital.  Whatever happened, whether she had to call the station and get David to drive her instead, she was not going to Storybrooke Hospital when she was in labour.

She had Tinkerbell to thank for that.  Well Tinkerbell and her new-found friend, anyway.  She’d started disappearing for periods of time long before Captain Hook had arrived, probably even before Mr Smee had officially moved in even.

Emma had wondered, a couple of times, where she went, but mostly she had other concerns like the renovation of the cottage across the road and the odd pitchfork that had appeared in the hallway as a result.

They still had the pitchfork; at least, Emma assumed it was somewhere, buried in the shed that Killian had built in the backyard and which Emma never ventured into, if she could help it.

Some things were better left unseen.

But she was definitely seeing less of Tinkerbell, and put it down to her own desire to escape the increasing number of extra items and cats at home, until the day she drove home and something on the street caught her eye.  It wasn’t just that her neighbour’s prized Miada was parked by the curb rather than under the shelter of the little carport that it usually resided in, the most striking thing was the ball of grey fur Emma briefly glanced as she drove past.

After parking her own car at home Emma jogged back down the street, and attempted to, quietly, coax Tinkerbell down from her perch.

Tinkerbell did an admirable job of pretending she was being accosted in the street by some lunatic woman and steadfastly refused to pay any attention to Emma’s pleas, or to even make eye contact.  Emma was at the point of leaving her to whatever fate the Miada’s owner might have in store for her, when the man in question bustled down the front steps of his house and straight over to the car.  For someone of his age and stature he could move quite fast, and Emma simply didn’t have time to high-tail it out of there.

“Uh…I was just trying to get my cat.  Off your car,” Emma said, trying to walk the fine line between admitting guilt and appearing somewhat apologetic.  Really it was Tinkerbell who was guilty, but it was pretty clear that Emma was ultimately responsible for her cat.  She shot Tinkerbell a look, but the cat wasn’t playing ball and stared resolutely at the trees in the distance.

“Sorry…” Emma continued, as she leaned over the car in an attempt to lift Tinkerbell down, hoping that the cat wouldn’t try to dig her claws in and scratch the paintwork in the process. 

“Oh, no.  She’s fine up there,” the man said, smiling in a way that Emma found a little unnerving.  The sun glinted off the small, round glasses he wore and he reached up towards Tinkerbell who, instead of ignoring him or shrinking back as she’d done when Emma approached, leaned forward allowing him to scratch her under the chin. 

“Tinkerbell’s a real lady,” he said, fondly.  “She won’t do any harm.”

And that was how Emma had discovered that Tinkerbell had not only become somewhat of a fixture at her neighbour’s house, but that the neighbour in question was Doctor Atwell, or “You can just call me Doc.  Everyone does,” and that he was Storybrooke’s one and only Ob-gyn.

He seemed nice enough.  Clearly he was very fond of Tinkerbell and she of him.  It wasn’t everyone who didn’t mind another person’s cat making use of their place, after all.  Just lonely people who perhaps needed a bit of comforting now and then.  Emma could hardly blame him for that, could she?

So Emma wasn’t going to stop Tinkerbell visiting Doc, and doubted she could manage to keep her cat away even if she wanted to, but as nice as Doc was Emma still didn’t particularly want him delivering her baby.  It was just all a touch too close to home for her liking.  And so, Camelot it was.  Or, at least, their hospital which was a lot shinier and newer than the one in Storybrooke and completely devoid of doctors who lived down the street, or nurses Emma might run into in the supermarket, or just people milling around who she’d one day have to give a parking ticket to.

  1.   Emma was going to Camelot and that was final.



Also, she’d been totally right about the mess Hook was making; he’d sent another shower of water droplets everywhere, splashing the mirror and annoying Killian to the point where he’d set the cat down on the floor. 

Hook didn’t seem impressed and Emma thought he might have come back over to investigate the bath again, except the sloshing of the water as she tried to lift herself up while managing to maintain a little dignity, sent him scurrying from the bathroom altogether.

“You alright there, love?” Killian asked, stepping towards the bath and hovering uncertainly.

Emma realised that any hope of grace or dignity had disappeared a while back when her body started to expand slightly alarmingly.  She held out her hand and Killian took it, helping to haul her onto her feet.

“At least it’s only two more weeks,” she said, reaching for a towel on the rack.  “And then I won’t have this problem.  I’ll have some other problems, but I won’t be this huge.”

She started drying herself and then stopped when she realised how pointedly Killian was staring at her stomach.  “What?”

“You really think it’ll be two weeks?” he asked, his head tilting sideways as he measured her up like he was trying to work out if he could fit another shelf on the living room wall, head on one side and eyes carefully appraising her.

“Well.  Yeah.”  Emma felt a little defensive now.  And far too thoroughly scrutinised.  “Or maybe longer.  Look how far past her due date Mary Margaret went.  First babies never come early.”

“Never?”

“Almost never.  Everyone knows that.”  Emma wasn’t certain if everyone did know that, but Mary Margaret seemed convinced, given she had her own experience to back her up, and the midwife running their baby classes at the hospital had told them gently not to expect it all to suddenly happen right on the day they were due.

As much as Emma was ready for this pregnancy to be over the prospect of being a few days, or even a week, overdue was one of the least horrifying things that Mary Margaret and the nice midwife had shared with her, so she was happy to take it as a given.

Episiotomies were a whole other matter entirely.

“I suppose.”  Killian didn’t seem convinced, but he changed the subject all the same.  “And what have you got on today, love?”

“Uh…” Emma thought for a bit.  “Nothing…”  She mentally worked her way through the lists of things she was supposed to do to prepare for the baby, but she seemed to be on top of everything.  She’d spent the previous day with Mary Margaret who’d taken Emma under her wing like she was one of her problem students.  Sure, it had started with a treat when they’d had the pedicures, but even that had been because, as Mary Margaret put it “It’s nice to have pretty toes to look at when you’re pushing.”

That was not an image Emma had needed.

The beauty salon was followed by a trip to the drugstore where Mary Margaret led her round explaining all the things Emma needed to buy.  Arms laden with nipple shields, pacifiers, tiny diapers, breast pads and the, frankly mortifying, maternity sanitary pads that Mary Margaret had insisted on, Emma had emerged somewhat dazed. 

After that she’d been occupied by washing impossibly tiny babygros and fine knitted hats, even those that had only just arrived in a plastic bag brought by Mary Margaret who announced that Mrs Lucas had been knitting up a storm and had run out of lemon wool so the baby had better show up soon, so she could switch to pink or blue.  It turned out this wasn’t just any load of laundry, either, as Mary Margaret insisted that Emma had to use the correct type of washing powder and, more importantly, have everything ready well before the baby came.

“No time like the present!” Mary Margaret had chirped brightly, sorting whites from coloureds and Emma had dumbly agreed and wondered if she’d ever manage to be excited about something as mundane as laundry.

Those jobs completed and the mythical nesting-instinct that supposedly heralded the onset of labour having not yet made an appearance, Emma felt a little lost. 

She was about to say that she might take a drive into town and see what was happening at the station when Killian cut her off.  “Good.”

“Good?  Why good?  You think it’s a good thing I don’t have anything to do today and I’ll be bored…and…and…”  Emma ran out of words and stopped talking, switching to giving him her best attempt at a reproving look, or at least the best she could manage while trying to wrap herself in a towel which wasn’t really co-operating.

“Because I’m sure you could do with the rest, love.”  Killian sighed and stroked his hand down Emma’s arm.  “I know you don’t want me to fuss over you, but I also know it’s not that easy for you.  After all, Emma who-is-definitely-not-a-morning-person isn’t up and about at 5.30am just because the birds are singing.”

Emma slumped a little and decided that maybe she wouldn’t mind just a little fussing right at that moment.  She’d been trying to just keep going, but the constant pain in her hips and the fact she couldn’t sleep and the newly persistent backache that had just that day decided to join the party were all wearing her down.  She was tired.

Maybe a day on the couch wouldn’t hurt?

“OK…I guess I could take it easy today.  And tomorrow…maybe I’ll go have lunch with David, or something.”

In the instant she watched Killian’s face break into a smile at her words, Emma decided that maybe a day of boredom wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it allowed her to just give Killian some peace of mind.

He’d been lovely throughout the whole pregnancy, but even Emma, who would admit that she maybe hadn’t always been the most perceptive when it came to what Killian was thinking, could see that he had struggled with all the times he just couldn’t do anything to make it better.  Her body wasn’t something he could take a hammer to…or, well, that was an analogy Emma didn’t want to contemplate any further.  But Killian liked to fix things and she wasn’t something that could be fixed.  It put them at somewhat of an impasse.

She seemed to have found a way past it, though, with her reassurances to Killian that she’d rest today.  And, really, assuming she could find a comfortable position to sit in, she’d be fine spending the day at home.  After all, Emma still had a good couple of weeks, maybe more, in which to get everything done at a slow and leisurely pace.

Sure, slow and leisurely wasn’t really her forte, but maybe she’d look back on this time and see it was all for the best.

“And what are you up to today?” she asked Killian, hoping that showing a little interest in his work might distract him from worrying about her.  Usually he liked to talk about whatever it was he was up to when he was working for Eric, and at this point in her life Emma could safely say that she knew more about boats and all the…bits…that went into them than she really needed to.

“Not so much.  Just working on that yacht…”  Killian stopped and looked thoughtful.  “You know, I could maybe leave a little early, if I get through what I need to this morning.  Be back here in time to watch some TV, make you dinner.  What do you fancy, love?”

He looked at her hopefully and Emma struggled to come up with an answer, just as much as she struggling to step over the edge of the bath.  Killian reached out and helped her with the second task, but the first one still eluded her.  “Um…I just…something light, maybe?”

It was a scary thing for Emma to admit, but in the last few days she’d mostly lost her appetite.  She had at the beginning of the pregnancy, too, when the all-day nausea had kicked in, but that was more an aversion to certain tastes.

Potato chips and crackers vanished as soon as the groceries were unpacked, but she couldn’t stomach the thought of anything remotely healthy.  And then the nausea passed, and her appetite returned, in full force.  Now she just seemed far too full of baby to contemplate digesting anything, but she didn’t have the heart to tell Killian that eating anything more than a sandwich held no appeal.  Not when he’d said he might be able to come home early and rescue her from her day of self-imposed boredom.

“I could make that Thai beef salad?”

“Sounds good.”

Dinner question settled, Emma left the bathroom so Killian could finish getting ready, and only narrowly missed stepping on Hook as she made her way to the bedroom.  “You know I can’t see you at the moment,” she muttered, but doubted the cat had paid her any attention.  The change in her shape was something the cat paid no attention to, unless he was trying to figure out why she no longer had a lap for him to perch on in the evenings.

Then he just looked hurt, like she was doing it on purpose to offend him.

Emma figured that the time it took her just to get dressed these days was probably good practice for having a slow day at home.  She hadn’t realised just how frustrating it would be to feel this large and ungainly.

Mary Margaret had been telling her, somewhat gleefully Emma thought, that pregnancy was simply nature’s way of getting you to go through labour.  But Emma wasn’t certain she was _that_ desperate to see her feet again.

Really, there should be a better way.  Nature was cruel and fickle and Emma wasn’t at all convinced by Mary Margaret’s assertions that you forgot all about the pain as soon as it was over.  Certainly Mary Margaret herself had remembered enough of the pertinent details in order to pass them onto Emma, so there had to be some flaw in that logic.

Dressed in the loosest clothes she could find, which really weren’t that loose any longer, Emma dragged herself into the kitchen to find a showered and rather bright looking Killian drinking what she hoped was a fresh cup of tea.

Emma could only manage a few Froot Loops which she ate without much gusto, knowing that they ticked absolutely zero nutritional boxes but not in the mood for anything else. 

“Perhaps, love,” Killian said, rinsing his cup and placing it beside the sink.  “You could work on your list today.  If the boredom really takes hold.”

“List?  Oh.  Right, yeah.”  Emma’s faked enthusiasm wasn’t enthusiastic in the least.

“Or maybe I could help when I get home?” Killian suggested, with an exaggeratedly casual air.

“Mmm.  Don’t think so,” she muttered into her cereal, hoping the subject would be dropped.

It had just been a throwaway comment at the time, her assertion that Killian wasn’t allowed to name anything else.  Because whatever way you looked at it, Captain Hook was a _terrible_ name to saddle a cat with.

At least Loki you could fit on a normal cat-sized nametag.  Captain Hook had to wear the ones normally reserved for dogs, and they always charged you extra for the engraving.

It wouldn’t be so bad, except he had a habit of losing collars and Killian had an even worse habit of replacing them.

And so when Killian had suggested, once they had reached the point in the pregnancy when everything was supposed to be plain sailing, that they invest in a book of baby names and compile a list, Emma had spoken without thinking.

“Nope.”

“You seem pretty adamant, love.  It’s a bit late to suddenly break the news that we’re raising the child in a commune and letting it pick its own name when it turns five.  Not sure I could live with a Rainbow or a…a…Haiku.”

“Haiku?  Seriously?  And that’s why we’re not doing a list.  _I’m_ making a list.  You’re just…banned.”  Emma nodded emphatically.

“Banned?  But I…”

Emma cut him off.  “Agreed to it.  Remember?  When you brought Hook home, I said that’s the last thing you’re naming and you were fine with it.  Nothing’s changed.”  She’d meant it kind of jokingly, but perhaps she’d sounded a little serious because instead of the argument Emma had expected from Killian, she just got his acquiescence.

“Alright, love.  We’ll see how you go, then.  Do I get power of veto?”

“Well…yeah.  I guess.”  Emma figured that gave her an out, and she was glad of it when the weeks then months passed and she quite clearly didn’t have a clue what to call another person, because all that responsibility felt even heavier than the weight in her belly.

If Killian asked how the list was going, she’d give him a cheery “Fine!” in response, but in reality, she had nothing.  She half-expected he would eventually break down and demand that they compose a list together at which point she would agree, a little huffily maybe, but then they could get on with solving the problem.

But Killian seemed all too happy to play along, checking with her on how the secret list was going and occasionally asking if all the secrecy was simply because she really had her heart set on the name Leroy?

Well, no.  And now it seemed a little late to let Killian in on the fact that she’d spent months coming up with a list of absolutely nothing when she’d been so adamant she’d be the best person for the job.

Maybe the hospital would just get the baby a collar and solve the problem for her?

“Well,” Killian continued, breaking Emma out of her contemplation of how she could possibly get away with just calling the baby ‘kid’ for the first few years at least.  “You don’t have long now so I guess we’ll have to pick from something on the list.”

“Mmm.”  Emma was on the verge of confessing everything when Killian suddenly announced his departure.

“Sooner I get going, the sooner I can get home, love,” he said, although at the time he had one hand on Emma’s bump and she couldn’t be entirely certain if he was speaking to her or the baby.

“I guess.”  Emma felt the baby kick her and Killian broke into a smile at the resulting jolt to his hand. 

“Come on,” he murmured.  “Do it again.”

“She’s not really been doing much this morning.  Even the bath didn’t wake her up,” Emma sighed.  She’d thought that maybe by this point in the pregnancy she’d be used to Killian’s fascination with what the baby might be up to, but, if anything, it was growing stronger as the kicks and thuds that landed on her insides grew stronger as well.

But when she thought about it, everything was a little less…somehow, this morning.  Maybe the baby had finally figured out how to sleep when she wanted to relax, or maybe it was just being kind to Emma as she dealt with the aches and pains she’d been saddled with.

Maybe she was so sleep deprived now that she just wasn’t paying attention to what was going on inside her anymore?

When there was no response from the baby, Killian looked at her a little quizzically.  “Probably asleep,” Emma said, hoping that was true. 

“See?  I was right about you needing a rest, both of you probably do.”

“Mmm.  Or she’s just bored already and the real couch-sitting hasn’t even begun.”

“Oh, I think _he_ can cope with some downtime.”

Emma gave him a look that she hoped conveyed the fact that Killian might be completely wrong about the gender of the baby, and he just shrugged.  “We’ll find out in a couple of weeks now.  And then you’ll know you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.”  Emma was less worried about being wrong than she was about the whole countdown to two weeks’ time.  She wasn’t looking forward to spending the day with nothing to think about other than the thing she really didn’t want to think about it.

But she put a brave face on it, and sent Killian off to work with a kiss, before dumping the bowl with most of her Froot Loops still sitting uneaten in it into the sink, and wandering into the living room in the hope of finding a distraction.

The television worked less well than she’d hoped.  Emma decided that if anyone later asked her why she hadn’t been able to make the whole sitting around on the couch thing work, she’d blame the fact the ache in her back just couldn’t let her find a comfortable position, and maybe perhaps even add that it would have been so much better if she’d had someone there to rub her back, rather than a cat who couldn’t care less about how much discomfort she was in.

Under no circumstances would she admit the fact that she ended up getting sucked into one too many television shows about re-homing shelter dogs and that she ended up sobbing silently on the couch while Hook pawed at her leg urging her to find the lap she’d misplaced in the last few months.

It was all a little overwhelming and Emma stood up and wandered, slowly, back into the kitchen in the hope of inspiration striking.  Hook followed her, probably in the hope of something else entirely.  He may not have had Mr Smee’s single-minded pursuit of food but he knew an opportunity when he saw one, and he wasn’t above using Emma’s clearly upset mood to his own advantage. 

Still at a loss for distraction, Emma tipped more cat food into Hook’s bowl and then noticed that the bag was fairly light.

It wouldn’t hurt, she thought, to just take a small trip into the pet store and save Killian the hassle of going out again later.  After all, this was the time to stock up on stuff like that in preparation for the event that she was trying hard not to think about.

She hadn’t even glanced at her overnight bag, sitting packed in the hallway when she’d walked past it on the way to the kitchen.

Cat food or, rather, a trip to buy cat food was the better option when it came to things to think about.  Emma explained to Hook where she was going and, as far as she could tell, the cat seemed to think it was a good idea as well.

Satisfied that everyone in the room was on board, Emma threw on her flip flops, not even daring to attempt anything that required her to tie laces or pull up zippers, and walked out the front door to her car.

Well, waddled.  Waddled was probably a better description, but, honestly, what was she to do when she was stuck with the extra weight in her abdomen and hips that just didn’t seem to want to hold together any longer?

Getting into her car was significantly more difficult than it had been even a month or so earlier.  The weird contortions required to position herself around the steering wheel and then the fiddly adjustments to get the seatbelt to cover some part of her that wasn’t in any way an important part started to seem a little ridiculous, but she’d committed to this trip now and getting herself back out of the car and into the house didn’t seem like a much better plan.

Once she was on the road Emma felt better about it all.  It was nice to be out of the house and she could almost ignore the fact that the ache in her back was so much worse while she was sitting in the car.

She parked outside the pet store and, after extricating herself back out of the car, she walked purposefully through the door and straight to the shelves of cat food at the back.  But, as she reached out for the super-sized bag of the brand Tinkerbell and Hook normally ate, she hesitated.

Once she’d bought this then what else did she have to do with her day?

Deciding that it wouldn’t hurt to kill a bit of time before she had to fold her uncooperative figure back into her car again, she drifted past the fish tanks and watched small versions of Nemo swish through the water, she passed a cage of squawking and squabbling budgies, and looked into a small hutch of guinea pigs.

Emma had never seen the point of guinea pigs really; there’d been a group home that had kept a couple as pets but she hadn’t paid them much attention.  At the time she’d been far more worried about making sure she didn’t annoy the bigger kids or miss out on her fair share at dinner.

Rounding the corner to the cages where the puppies and kittens and were kept, Emma’s eyes were caught by something small and fluffy waggling its tail and she nearly collided with Anna. 

“Hi Emma!” she said, so brightly that Emma wondered if she might start waggling a tail, too.  “You hiding out here as well?  Not that…you know, you’ve got anything to hide out from…”  Anna gestured to Emma’s rather sizeable mid-section and frowned a little, clearly struggling to work her out of the verbal pit she’d dug herself into.  “But, anyway.  Nice to see you!”

“You’re hiding out at the pet store?” Emma asked, and Anna blushed, slightly, and looked at her hands before answering.

"Well...I have a good reason...mostly anyway. You know when you're a kid and you get cake and you think nothing in the world could be better than getting more cake? Or, even better, just endless cake? Cake as far as the eye can see?"

Emma was more than a little worried that this would be one if Anna's long digressions and, while she was grateful that she’d be spared the problem of having to confess the fact that her own childhood had been lacking in cakes of any description due to the fact Anna could barely draw breath, let alone ask questions, when she was really on a roll, Emma still wasn’t certain that she wanted her day’s activities to include hearing all about Anna’s childhood.

So Emma did the bare minimum to keep the conversation ticking on and nodded while Anna barrelled into her next sentence.  “So, anyway, now it’s like my dream came true and it’s all just be careful what you wish for…which is what my mom used to say all the time, but mostly that was when I wished for snow, because she said that’s never as much fun as you think it will be and, you know, we still disagree on that one.  Cake, though, I can kinda see her point on cake.  Now that Elsa’s been all-but force-feeding it to me, that is.”

“So you’re hiding from the cake?”

“Well.  Mostly Elsa.  A little bit Mom, because she’s the one who keeps saying _“Maybe we should do each layer differently?”_ , or “ _Hey! I saw this mango cake with passionfruit buttercream in a magazine, can you do that one?”_  Or, and this is worse, _“Anna!  Be appreciative of all your sister’s hard work!”_ and I _am_ but Mom’s not, because every day it’s a new idea and a new flavour and really, at this point, I just want chocolate.  Just chocolate and nothing fancier than that.”

“But…you can’t have chocolate?” Emma asked, as she struggled to keep the thread of the conversation going.

“Oh!  Well _I could_ , I guess.  I mean, if I wanted.  I’m sure Elsa would do it.  But she’s already making a chocolate wedding cake for Helga and I think…well, no.  I _know_ that Mom wants me to do something different.  And have at least two more layers.”

Emma looked longingly at the puppy in the cage next to them, and wondered if it would be rude to just ignore Anna and pet the small fluffy animal through the bars of its cage like she’d intended to when she came over here.

But Anna’s eyes were just as pleading and hopeful as the dog’s and Emma realised that she was expecting some great words of wisdom or advice, which was clearly nuts because did Emma look like Mary Margaret?

And then she realised that she was about to become someone’s _mother_ and no wonder Anna was looking at her hopefully; she thought Emma was suddenly going to start being able to dole out advice and cookies whenever required and that was just not going to happen because, outside of TV shows, Emma had never even seen a mom do that in real life.

Really, she should have just bought the damn cat food and high-tailed it back to the car as quick as possible.

“Well, it’s your wedding, isn’t it?” Emma tried in the end, hoping it would at least buy her some time.

“Yeah…but it’s been so difficult since Aunt Helga got engaged and Mom got offended, and now I just feel like I’m caught in the middle.  And Elsa is trying to make everyone just get along, and Aunt Ingrid just wants everyone to do it her way and I just…sometimes it would be nice to run away.  Kristoff’s second-cousin offered to marry us in the stone circle he built in his backyard, but I don’t know if it’ll be legal.  He’s an accountant.”

It all sounded far too complicated for Emma to try to unravel right then, standing in a pet store.  She’d heard parts of the story at various times and from various people, all of whom were tripping over themselves to tell Emma the latest in the saga of Anna’s Aunt Helga and Tom Clark who owned the drugstore. 

At first it had been a little surprising that Helga had, after all these years, finally agreed to date Tom.  And then the dates had progressed and, despite the fact that Ingrid, when Emma had called in to buy some Rocky Road as she was passing through the ice cream craving part of her pregnancy, had said it would never last, they kept seeing each other.

Then they got engaged.  And, as far as Emma could make out, all hell broke loose in the Gunderson-Halverson family because not only were Helga and Tom Clark getting married, they jumped the queue and scheduled the wedding for an earlier date than Anna and Kristoff’s long-planned nuptials.

It all gave Emma a headache just thinking about the family politics involved in _that_ particular scenario, and that was before you got to the fact that poor Anna was bearing the brunt of Gerda’s ire in a competition over how big the wedding cake was.

“But I guess you’re lucky you don’t have this problem,” Anna sighed, and then she clearly realised what she’d said, and her eyes went comically wide and she stammered out “Oh, but, I mean…it doesn’t _matter_ , that you’re not married…unless, it matters to you…and it shouldn’t, I mean, that’s your choice, and everything.  And no one’s going to make you eat all the cake.  You could even have chocolate.  Have you tried Elsa’s Black Forest cake?  I’d have that.  If I was you.  And I wanted to get married…or didn’t.  You can have cake anytime.  And babies.  You can have them too.”

“Yeah…” Emma replied, completely lost now as to what the best response to any of that was, other than relief that she didn’t have a mother or an Aunt Ingrid breathing down her neck and telling her how she should run her life.  Sometimes there were small mercies in not having a family.

And most of the time she didn’t really think about getting married.  Because that wasn’t something that happened for people like her, people that hadn’t been part of a family, who didn’t know what it was like to be loved and therefore couldn’t really give it back.

Granted, there was a small voice that she very rarely listened to that said that maybe Emma wasn’t telling herself the truth, but it was an annoying voice and Emma tried very hard to ignore it.

None of this, however, helped her in her current situation, because Emma didn’t know what advice to offer about something she’d never had to face herself.  It would have been easier if Anna had wanted to know how to hot-wire a car, or the best way to avoid being caught on CCTV or maybe even if she just wanted to know if she should get the puppy.

And Emma tried to think of a plausible set of words she could string together, but her back started aching again and she shifted to one foot to see if that would ease it and, when it didn’t, she placed a hand on the ache to try to will it away.

“Oh!” Anna said.  “I shouldn’t be keeping you around here…now.  When’s the baby due?  I mean, not that you’re huge, or anything, but you seem like you’d be close…are you close?”  Her features pinched together in a knot of concern that made Emma bristle a little at the implication. 

“I’m fine,” Emma said, waving the hand not on her back.  “And I’ve got weeks to go yet.  So it’ll be OK.”

“Well, if you say so,” Anna replied, looking less than convinced. 

“No, really.”  Emma straightened up, even though her back protested at the movement.  “Nothing to worry about.  But, uh, I should probably go and get the cat food I came in for and leave you to your, uh…”

“Hiding,” Anna supplied.  “None of them have figured out this place yet.  I used to hide in the drugstore and read the magazines, but, you know…that’s out of the question now.”

“Yeah. Well, nice to see you.  Good luck, with…with everything.”

“And you.  You’ll probably need it more than me.  Although Aunt Ingrid was pretty fearsome when Mom was refusing to be part of Aunt Helga’s wedding party.  She’s scarier because she doesn’t yell, she’s just so very disappointed in you.  Not, you…just…us.  When we don’t do what she wants.”  Anna paused, and then started again on a completely different subject and with a completely different tone.

“But the baby is exciting!  We’re all looking forward to that.”

“Uh…are you?”

“Yep.  We’ll need photos and, you know, to find out what it is.  I think girl…although…no, girl!  Definitely a girl.”

“OK.  Take care, Anna!”  Emma was a little perturbed by the notion that Anna’s whole family were just hanging out for the news of the baby, but mostly she was simply pleased that she had managed to turn her back and start walking without the other woman thinking of another thing to add to the conversation.  So pleased, that Emma was out the door of the store before she realised she’d forgotten to pick up the bag of cat food on her way past.

Out on the sidewalk, she hesitated, torn between going back in and completing the errand she’d especially gone out for, or just getting away from Anna and her family problems altogether.  In the end, she decided it was too late to go back and she’d just keep moving forward.

Only she wasn’t sure what she was moving towards, now that she was stuck at the end of Main Street with no particular purpose and a pet store she couldn’t re-enter.

It couldn’t hurt to just stick her head into the station and see how David was getting on, could it?

Deciding that visiting colleagues was a perfectly reasonable way to spend her day of rest, Emma ambled along the street, past the collection of stores and towards the police station.

Actually, Emma realised, as she glanced her reflection in a store window, she wasn’t ambling.  She was waddling.  Again. 

And in public this time. 

She tried to adjust her gait and make it less duck-like, but her hips didn’t want to co-operate anymore and the heaviness in her abdomen felt extra-heavy today and there was a pressure between her legs that made her unwilling to keep them together.

Well, waddling it was then.  It took a moment for Emma to adjust her thinking; to push past the possible humiliation and accept that this was her reality now.

Two weeks.  Maybe three.  Or three and a half if she went past her due date.

She could do this for two more weeks, couldn’t she?

It seemed easy enough in her head but, by the time she was dragging her feet up the four steps to the door of the police station with one hand on her back and the other trying desperately to support the belly that threatened to pull her over, Emma didn’t think she’d ever been so happy to see the place.

Only when she pushed through the heavy door the whole place seemed surprisingly quiet and Emma wondered where on earth everyone was.

“Emma!” Ashley called from the front desk.  She’d recently started working days rather than nights, now that her kids were old enough to be in school and day-care and, Emma had to admit, that the station had been the better for having her around.

And, OK, maybe that was because she liked baking, but Emma wasn’t going to begrudge the woman a reason to enjoy her hobbies.

“Oh, look at you!” Ashley exclaimed, coming around the side of the desk.  “You look like you’re about to pop.”

Emma wasn’t sure if that was strictly true.  Popping seemed to imply that she’d have some kind of say in the matter.  Mostly she felt like she was about to disintegrate, like a wet paper bag that was about to tear and spill its contents all over the floor. 

She managed a weak smile in Ashley’s direction and remembered to take her hand away from her bump; nothing like drawing attention to the thing she didn’t want to discuss more than she had to.

“David’s out,” Ashley announced, unprompted.  “Doing the presentation on drunk driving up at the high school.  I think it was a little bummed that you weren’t here to do it instead.”

Emma was pleased she was being missed, but not exactly sad that she’d had to forgo trying to talk to a bunch of hormone-driven teenagers and persuade them that all the really fun things were pretty much off limits.

“Yeah, that sounds…” Emma tried to find the right word to respond with.  “Exhausting.”  It didn’t at all, it was just that she was suddenly tired herself and everything felt exhausting.

“Are you OK?” Ashley asked, concerned.  “Do you want to sit down or something?”

“No.  Nope.  Fine.”  Emma was using the minimum amount of words required now, and Ashley looked at her warily.

“You know, you’ve been carrying real low down and I thought that means it’s a boy for sure.  I carried right up under my boobs when I had Alex, but with Michael it was totally different.  But, you know, I think it’s lower now.”

“What is?”

“The bump.  Have you dropped?”

For a moment Emma looked down at her feet, or, more precisely, the place where she estimated her feet to be, wondering what it was she could have dropped.  And then the penny dropped, so to speak.  “No.  Because it’s too early for that.”

“Mmm.  You say that, but I had Michael two weeks early and he was still bigger than his sister.  If the baby’s ready…”

“Nope.  Not ready.”  Emma thought that maybe she was talking about herself instead of the baby, but it was the same thing really.  Not gonna happen today.

“Well, alright.”  Ashley didn’t seem convinced.  “You sure you don’t want to stop and sit for a while?  David might be back soon; he’ll be sad he missed you.”

Emma was a little torn; she had been hoping to see David just because…well, he’d kept her sane through most days of the pregnancy so far, it wasn’t too much to expect he could do it just once more?

At first Emma had kept her baby news to herself, but her good fortune at falling pregnant came with an equally large dose of all-day nausea and occasional retching and, while she wasn’t about to go blabbing all over the station, there was only so much she could do when she sometimes had to disappear to a quiet location and hover over the nearest receptacle.

It wasn’t pretty, it wasn’t fun and Emma just wanted it to be over, but she had at least thought she was doing a reasonable job of keeping her constant bouts of nausea to herself, until the day when she and David were called out to the convent to look into the theft of their tractor.  Emma had been surprised that a bunch of nuns needed a tractor and David had just been thrilled to finally have a chance to show off his knowledge of farm equipment.  In the end he’d been forced to drink a large quantity of their homemade lemonade while Emma had retched behind the rose bushes as quietly as she could.

And it turned out that the tractor had simply been left in the parking lot of The Rabbit Hole by a novice who’d gone looking for excitement and was probably never going to make it as a nun, at least if Mother Superior’s face when they got the call about it was anything to go by.

Emma stopped feeling sorry for herself long enough to be grateful she wasn’t that girl.

After being thanked by the nuns and returning to the car Emma had regretted leaving her spot in the garden as another wave of nausea hit.  She could only hope that David had the decency to break all the speed limits on the way back to the station where she could hole up in privacy until the desire to empty her stomach contents went away again.

“Just, uh…just let’s get back to the station, yeah?” she’d suggested, as casually as she could, while winding down the window in the hope that fresh air might blow away the heavy fog of nausea she was permanently trapped in.

But instead of starting the engine David had reached into the back seat of the police cruiser and grabbed a brown paper bag, which he handed to her.

“What’s this?”  Emma unrolled the top and thought that if nothing else, at least she had the bag if her stomach did decide to rebel again.

“Uh…well…”  David sounded a little sheepish.  “I got you something, they’re ginger candies.  Mary Margaret said they helped.”

“Helped?”  Emma pulled a small tin out of the bag.

“With the nausea.”  David put the car in gear and drove slowly down the convent’s tree-lined driveway.  “When she was…you know.  Ginger’s good for settling the stomach.”

Emma read the words on the tin; _Happy Belly Hard Candies_.  Oh.  Well that was just…oh.

There was silence in the car and then Emma just dissolved into great gulping sobs that were both highly embarrassing and deeply liberating after a morning, no weeks now, spent trying to hide everything that was happening to her.

“Oh no,” Emma heard David say, but she was really too far gone to do much.  Just letting everything out felt _so damn good_. 

“Don’t cry,” David said, weakly, and not at all in the concerned but slightly authoritative way that he normally dealt with grieving and upset bystanders when they were working. “I hoped it would make you feel better.  I’m sorry.”

“Don…don’t be…sssorry…” Emma replied, between great hiccupping sobs.  “I just…I’ve been…been _so_ sick…all the time…”  She wasn’t entirely certain this explained her extreme reaction to David being nice to her, or having the burden of keeping it all secret lifted from her.

But he seemed to get it, or, at least, he stopped looking at her like she was a bomb about to detonate.  “It will pass, you know.  Nothing lasts forever.  I just wish I’d brought some Kleenex along with the candy.”

Emma made a kind of hiccupping noise that ended in a snort and the tears stopped falling, which was a relief because, as nice as it had been to let herself wallow, there were limits.  And she was feeling slightly comforted by David’s words.  It was the first time in a long time she’d felt good about the fact that everything had to end sometime.

The pregnancy wasn’t going to go on forever, so she’d be fine.

Only today, she wasn’t feeling fine.  She was out of sorts and, somehow, the idea of the pregnancy ending no longer comforted her because she didn’t feel equipped to deal with the actual mechanics of getting the baby out of her and she just needed David to remind her she could do it but he wasn’t here and now she didn’t even know why she’d bothered to haul herself to the station because she was a long way from home and everything just felt wrong.

And Ashley was looking at her now, in a way that screamed _I’m worried that the pregnant woman in front of me might keel over and I’ll get the blame for it_.

“I don’t need to sit…I think… I think I might just head on out then, if David isn’t here.  Tell him I called by, will you?”

Emma was pretty sure that Ashley said something in the affirmative, or maybe she just made another attempt to get Emma to sit still.  But, as appealing as the idea of trying to ease the ache in her back was, Emma felt a little too restless to stay put and she gave Ashley what was intended to be a friendly wave but which, Emma suspected, really came off as a little dismissive.

She just seemed to have lost the energy to hold a conversation now.  This relaxing day off was draining her and the best plan seemed to be to go home and have the nap that had eluded her earlier and see if she couldn’t salvage what was left of the time until Killian got home.

Because as comforting as David could be at times probably the one person she really wanted around right now was Killian.  It would be so much better spending time on the couch if he was around to keep her company, to rub her back while they watched something mindless on TV, nothing that involved babies or animals or people crying about wedding dresses though.  Maybe something with superheroes. 

It took Emma a huge effort not to just crash to the sidewalk and wait for rescue.  It would be nice, just for once, to be the person everyone else was crowding around and fussing over.  She felt that, after nearly nine months of pretending that nothing had changed and everything was fine, she deserved a little special treatment.

But the car came into view and, really, the best choice was to just head on home and wait for Killian.  He wouldn’t be long and then, finally, she would be able to relax a little.  And, all of a sudden, there was nothing more appealing to Emma than being able to sit on her own couch and do nothing.

Of course that was how it happened, as soon as she bothered to get out of the house she wanted nothing more than to be back there.  Her stupid mind was all over the place today.

Reaching the car was a relief; squeezing herself back into it wasn’t.  Although the day was only what would have been normally described to Emma, by those people interested in the weather, as ‘pleasant’, she felt sticky all over and the damp t-shirt stretched across her back stuck unpleasantly to the upholstery of the driver’s seat and she was really just over the whole experience of leaving her house.

Maybe she’d just hole up for the next two weeks and wait for it all to be over.

Fuelled by the desire to reach the safe space that was home Emma turned the key and…nothing.  The engine, which never exactly roared to life under the best of conditions, didn’t even bother to spit out a polite cough.  At best you could say it gave a kind of whine.

And then it fell silent.

Further attempts to coax it to life didn’t yield any better results, just a few more coughs and splutters from the engine.  Getting back out of the car was really the last thing Emma felt like doing and she looked around for where she might have left her cell phone, hoping that maybe if she called Killian he wouldn’t be averse to leaving work altogether and just coming to get her.

Only her phone wasn’t there and she remembered that she’d carefully put it on the table in the kitchen before she left on her errand and thereby had managed to do exactly the thing she’d been telling Killian not to do for a good week or so now.

Emma stayed where she was and debated her options.  She could simply sit here until someone noticed her and beg for some assistance, which would mean that she wouldn’t necessarily have to let Killian know that she’d been stupid enough to leave the phone at home.

But her desire not to spend all afternoon in the car outweighed her embarrassment at her own carelessness.  She’d lived in this car at one time, back when she was younger and things were rough, and she had no desire to go back to that state of affairs when she was this enormous.

There was the option of going back to the station and waiting until David showed up again, but she definitely didn’t like the idea of further discussions about how far her bump had dropped while she waited.  Nor did the notion of going back into the pet store appeal; she’d only narrowly escaped Anna earlier on and she might not be that lucky again.   

Her only choice, really, was to walk...no, waddle down to the docks and see if she could wait while Killian finished up at work.  That was a closer option than the station and a shorter walk was infinitely more appealing right then.

Exiting the car with some difficulty Emma started off down the street again in a fashion that you’d struggle to even term waddling.  Mostly it was just shuffling and the only thing that kept her going was the thought that this would be over soon.  She’d find Killian, he would tell her it would all be OK, and they could go home and watch a movie.  Or something.

Only when she got to the boat shed, there was no Killian which was disappointing, and a little familiar.  Emma thought she’d been in this situation before and her heart sank.

Leroy came out to greet her though, at least she thought that was his intention.  “If you’re looking for Surly, he went to Hell.”

Emma’s brain, which had been focused on other things like just getting her body to hold together long enough to reach Killian, couldn’t make any sense of what Leroy was telling her.  And she guessed her face gave that away because Leroy frowned, and continued.  “You know?  Hel?  Few miles past the Toll Bridge stuck out in the woods there.  Place is basically three houses and a barn.”

“Oh.  Yep.  Right.”  It made a little more sense now.  For whatever reason Killian had gone out to the settlement known locally as Hel, named, Emma thought, for a town in Norway near where the first inhabitants of the place had come from.  There weren’t many of them, and they all seemed to be relatives of Anna’s fiancé Kristoff, but that was about all Emma knew of the place.

“He had to go and pick up a carving off the guy out there who does them in his spare time, think he’s an accountant.  Kristoff’s cousin?  Anyway, we have to put it on that cutter that’s nearly finished so the owner can get it launched before the weather turns.”

“Oh.  OK.”  Somehow Emma seemed unable to explain the problem to Leroy and think of a solution at the same time and so she was stuck in a verbal loop.  Her brain had shut down a little, and she wasn’t sure what it was going to take to get it going again. 

Probably the ache in her entire lower half was going to have to disappear before that happened.

“You alright, sister?” Leroy asked.  “You, uh…it’s not, uh…happening, is it?”

“Is what what-ing?”  Emma was lost again.  Leroy gestured to her midsection and Emma looked down, as though Leroy was pointing out she had something stuck to her shirt. 

“No!”  Emma felt a little indignant now, realising slightly too late exactly what Leroy was alluding to and that it had nothing to do with food she might have dropped earlier.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Leroy replied, sounding far from certain about her assessment. 

“Yeah, nothing’s happening there I just…my car won’t start and I was hoping Killian could take me home.”  Emma stopped herself from adding something like ‘before I collapse’ or ‘so I can get the weight off my feet’ because she didn’t need to add fuel to the fire Leroy had already tried to start.

She had weeks to go yet.  And she was going to use them to relax, Emma decided, perhaps a little belatedly.  Clearly Killian had been right about her needing a rest and she should make the most of being able to sit at home while she could.

Probably she wasn’t going to tell him he was right, but the important thing was that they’d reached the same conclusion and things would start to work out from here on in.  Her back would stop aching, the weird feeling in her belly would stop and things would go back to normal.  Well, a late-pregnancy kind of normal, but that was better than nothing.

“I’ll take you if you like,” Leroy wiped his hands on the greasy looking overalls he was wearing and looked at Emma expectantly. 

“Oh…uh…”  Home seemed like a good idea in that moment.  “Sure.  Thanks.”

Emma followed Leroy out to his, surprisingly tidy, van and levered herself into the passenger seat under her rescuer’s watchful gage.  “I am absolutely not having the baby today,” she announced, as Leroy took his own seat and started the engine.

“Whatever you say, sister.  Anyway, next week’d probably be better.”

“Well that’s closer to when I’m due.”  And, sure, Emma knew that due dates were a guide and not set in stone but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to cling to hers stubbornly. 

“Exactly.  So you’re bound to wait until at least then…aren’t you?”

“Why are you…wait.”  Leroy’s sudden interest in Emma’s due date rang warning bells.  “Are you _betting_ on when I’ll give birth?”

Leroy shrugged.  “It’s not a bet, really, just a friendly wager…”  He turned and gave her a once-over before returning his eyes to the road.  “I got next Tuesday, think you can last until then?”

“Why is everyone so anxious for me to have the baby anyway?” Emma fumed.  “If it’s not Anna making me promise pictures, it’s Ashley talking about dropping bumps, or you betting on me...or…or Mary Margaret running a laundry boot camp, and Mrs Lucas hounding me as to whether she needs pink or blue wool, or just Killian looking worried and asking me if I’m sure it’s all OK, when, I think, all he’s really worried about is that I’m not OK, that I won’t be able to do this, and I will…I think I will, but not this freakin’ week.”

Silence fell over the van and Emma felt a little ashamed over her outburst because it wasn’t Leroy’s fault.  Well, it was marginally his fault for being stupid enough to bet on when labour would start, but he probably didn’t deserve her tirade.

Emma thought about apologising, but wasn’t really sure what to say so decided that awkward silence may just have to do.  Surprisingly Leroy didn’t seem to agree.

“They shouldn’ta done it,” he mumbled quietly enough that Emma wasn’t certain whether he was actually talking to her or just muttering about her.

“What?  Who?” 

Leroy sighed heavily, but kept his eyes on the road.  “You.  They shouldn’ta left you out there by the bridge.”

“You know that was me?” Emma asked, quietly, trying not to burst into tears.

“Course I do, sister.”  Leroy looked over at her and shrugged.  “I know mosta the stuff that happens in this place.  And I figure that if they hadn’ta done it, then you wouldn’t have the wobbles now.  But honestly, you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll be fine,” Emma repeated, feeling numb and raw and not really convinced at all by what she was saying.

“But just try to be fine next Tuesday, ‘cos I got twenty bucks riding on that.”

Emma laughed, just a little.  “I’ll try for next Tuesday.”

When they arrived at Emma’s house, Leroy pulled the van into the driveway and clearly expected Emma to get out, but she reached for the door handle and then hesitated, turning back to look at him over her shoulder.  “Do you think it would have been different…better?” she asked.

“What?”

“Just…if they hadn’t done it.  Do you think that would have made a difference?”  Emma had spent years and years thinking about what it would have been like if she hadn’t been left on the roadside, and then probably even longer forcing herself to not think about it because she couldn’t change things now.

But today, when everything was a little off-kilter and her hormones were wonky and she only had two freaking weeks left before she became a parent herself she couldn’t help but wonder.

“Do you think I would have been better at this?” she added quietly, when Leroy hadn’t responded.  That had been the problem all along, really.  It wasn’t so much that she was scared of labour, she wasn’t thrilled by it but it would pass, like everything did really.

Emma was terrified of what came after because what if it happened to her too.  What if she wasn’t strong enough to get past it?

What if she just left her baby behind because she wasn’t fit to be anyone’s mother?

Leroy looked a little flustered at her question, and Emma couldn’t really blame him.  It wasn’t something she even wanted to own up to, and it was nothing she had an answer for.  But she’d kept it inside for so long, growing along with the baby and now she had two weeks left to try to figure it all out so she didn’t do something unforgivable when the baby was finally here.

There were no almosts or maybes or perhaps next times with someone as helpless as your newborn, even Emma knew that.  It was all or nothing and what if…what if with Emma it was always meant to be nothing?

“You know I never got the chance to have kids…just me and Astrid, it was too late by the time we found each other.  I dunno.  I think what they did to you was terrible, but not because you are.  They never got to see you be happy, and that’s a real shame.  I’m just glad you got a bunch of people who can see it, even if you feel that they’re bugging you a little.  It’s only ‘cos they like you.”  Leroy finished with an embarrassed cough.

“Wait…do you like me?”

“Not so much when I’m sobering up in a cell at the station courtesy of you, sister.  But sure, you’re alright.  You turned out OK.  You’ve done good things for Storybrooke and, you know…it’s nice to have you around.”

Emma wasn’t quite certain how to take that, and attempted to laugh it off.  “I think you’ve mistaken me for Mary Margaret.”

“Phfft.  You didn’t know her when she was younger.  I tell you; that girl was a terror in her day.  But we all change...no one’s exempted from that.  And, if we’re lucky, things work out OK.  Just the people…the ones who left you, they never gave themselves a chance to see if they could change…see if it’d work out.  I mean, look at Tom and Helga.  Somehow they changed…and found each other.  No one’d see that coming.”

“Well, no.”  Emma didn’t want to be drawn into the merits of _that_ particular liaison again.  But there was something a little comforting in Leroy’s words, and, as unfamiliar as it was for Emma to think that change could mean something coming her way, she had to admit that Leroy wasn’t perhaps completely wrong about things.

“Thanks, Leroy.  You’ve been…great.  Just, thanks.  For the ride and for everything.”  Emma pushed the van door open and slid out of the seat with as much as dignity was possible given size and shape.

“Tuesday, sister.  Remember; hold out for Tuesday.”

“I will.”  Emma waved over her shoulder and walked into the cottage, glad to see Hook waiting for her in the hallway.  “It’s all going to be OK,” she informed him, but he seemed nonplussed by her confession and, after a cursory press of his face to her leg in greeting, wandered off to do something far more interesting than listen to Emma talk about her problems.

Although she felt less like talking about anything right then.  Leroy may not have been the person she’d have picked to confide in but maybe, just maybe, he’d not been entirely wrong.

Her back still ached though.  And her belly felt heavy.  And she wasn’t particularly interested in food, everything felt too full and tight.  But she wasn’t as tired as she had felt earlier.  If anything she was ready to do…something.

But she was back to the problem of what to do.

Her cell phone, abandoned earlier on the kitchen table, suddenly buzzed to life and Emma walked carefully down the hallway, not entirely certain where Hook had gone and not willing to trip over him because he liked to dart in front of her feet and therefore under her bump.

Sometimes it was like he had a deathwish.

Not without some effort Emma managed to reach her phone in time to answer the call, but it wasn’t Killian calling to let her know he was on the way home as she had hoped.  Instead it was the new tenant they’d arranged for the cottage, some old college friend of Ruby’s called Merida Mackintosh who had an accent that meant Emma only figured out what she was saying about three sentences later.  She got the general idea of the conversation, though; Merida and her husband were now arriving a few days earlier than expected and would be there tomorrow.

Emma disconnected the call and looked over at Hook, who’d reappeared silently in the doorway.  “Bugger,” she announced, using a very useful term she’d picked up from Killian, but usually tried not to use when he was in earshot because she couldn’t take the ribbing about learning a foreign language. 

“I suppose I should go over and check the place,” Emma said, mostly to herself, but partly to Hook, who, she had to admit, was unlikely to talk her out of the idea.  Killian had spent the previous Saturday cleaning the place while Emma had attempted what she could, but bending was definitely an issue for her at the moment and she’d felt a little useless standing around watching.

But, surprisingly given how tired she’d felt dragging her unwieldly body up and down Main Street earlier, Emma felt a sudden burst of energy.  It would feel good to actually achieve something today; none of her other plans had come to fruition after all, and she hadn’t even manage to buy the cat food she’d set out for.  But giving the cottage a once over, wiping away the odd bit of dust and making sure things were in order, well, Emma could do that. 

And then when Killian got back, in the very near future, she’d have something positive to tell him.

She didn’t particularly want to dwell on what have prompted her slightly improved mood and whether it had anything to do with her near breakdown on the ride with Leroy.  Some things were just too embarrassing to re-visit.  Better to just keep moving forward and, with the baby coming in only another two weeks, it was important to look after their investment in the cottage and make sure that rental income kept coming in.

These were all _excellent_ justifications Emma felt, and she was tempted to share them with Hook, as she took the set of keys for the cottage off the hook by the backdoor, but the cat looked fully occupied with washing somewhere unmentionable and not at all interested in a discussion.  She did, however, call back over her shoulder as she opened the front door “You sure you don’t want to come?” but the cat didn’t answer and he didn’t follow her out and so she crossed the road unaccompanied.

Walking around the cottage to the backdoor there was an odd moment where a shadow sort of moved out of the corner of her eye and she thought, for just a second, that it looked familiar.  But the ache in her back started again, only now it was moving round to the front, so that took her focus, for at least as long as it took her to realise why Hook hadn’t wanted to follow her over.

He just hadn’t wanted to return to the scene of the crime.

There, laid out on the steps leading up to the back door of the cottage, were two little headless corpses, their fur matted and their tiny paws held up in what looked like a gesture of supplication.  Emma supposed it hadn’t done them any good.

Sighing she unlocked the door and stepped over the two dead rats.  At first it had been a novelty to have a cat who actually hunted, but it was a novelty that had soon worn off.  It only took a couple of times of removing dead rats from the kitchen floor before you realised that it didn’t actually cut down on the amount of the cat food you had to buy, and it just added a whole other, completely unpleasant, task into the day.

Even Killian had stopped praising Hook for his efforts, but he still persisted.  And he just seemed to be getting sneakier about it, leaving the trophies in places where Emma was less likely to scold him for the mess.

In the kitchen Emma rummaged around under the kitchen sink trying to locate a plastic bag she could use.  The pains were coming and going now, sometimes worse than other times, but the general uncomfortable feeling persisted and crouching down was one thing, but getting up was quite another and Emma had to lean against the counter for a while and try to straighten her back out as best she could.

It was even getting to the baby, she thought, who had been strangely calm for most of the day.  And that was a good thing, because she wasn’t sure she could take the acrobatics in her womb on top of everything else.

As she turned around to go and face the mess on the step, Emma caught another image out of the corner of her eye.  This time it was distinctly orange and the first thought, the one that immediately popped into Emma’s mind was _Mr Smee_.

A second or two later Emma realised the impossibility of that being the case.  Looking around carefully she tried to locate what it was she’d actually seen, but there was no cat in sight and not even some orange Formica that she could blame for casting a weird shadow.

Just a trick of her own mind then.

Emma set to work gathering up the small grey bodies and the other, less readily identifiable, bits of gore strewn about the step.  “Would have made an _excellent_ zombie,” she muttered to herself, more than a little annoyed at Hook, but still secretly pleased that she’d found the kill zone the day before their tenants arrived.

Because nothing says ‘Welcome to Storybrooke’ like a bunch of dead rats missing their heads.

 The worst of the mess picked up, Emma returned to the kitchen to fill a bowl with water so she could slosh the dark stain of blood away, but stopped dead in her tracks when the ache, that on and off annoying one that she’d had all day in the background, suddenly became something tighter and stronger and she was stuck in place while she waited for it to pass.

And then as suddenly as it had started, it stopped and Emma was left wondering if she’d imagined it just like she’d imagined seeing Mr Smee earlier.

She had two weeks to go, so it was bound to happen, odd aches and pains coming and going, her body practicing so it knew what to do when labour actually happened.

Nothing to worry about, Emma told herself, as she threw water all over the step and watched it run down onto the ground below.  Satisfied with her handiwork, Emma put the bowl in the sink and then the pain hit again.

That was annoying.  She wanted to check the rest of the house and here she was, stuck holding onto the kitchen counter and trying to wait for it to pass.

And it did.  Emma took the opportunity of being pain free to check the bathroom was tidy and use the toilet while she was there, having been well-schooled by Mary Margaret that her days of going in there by herself were numbered.

Nothing much happened.  And certainly her underwear wasn’t showing anything unpleasant like it had that morning before her bath.  She’d been told, in the baby classes, about things like ‘show’ as they euphemistically called it.  And she’d admit that it could have been that, but then it could have just been a weird pregnancy thing too because it hadn’t come back.

Still two weeks to go.

She walked around the bedrooms and, in the living room, picked up a newspaper that had been left on the coffee table and checked to make sure that the coal box was full.

Emma was about to retrieve the bag with the dead rats from the kitchen when she was trapped in the hallway by another pain and by the heaviness she’d been feeling in between her legs suddenly becoming a dampness between her legs.

Her brain dulled by pain Emma was utterly confused about this turn of events.  She’d heard, in more detail than she wanted, about the toll pregnancy and childbirth took on your bladder but she’d just used the bathroom and really it seemed a little unfair that it was happening to her now, when she was getting these pains and everything was going wrong.

The pain subsided and she straightened up, only for more fluid to leak from her and Emma suddenly realised that she’d made a terrible miscalculation.

She might think there was two weeks to go; the baby clearly had other ideas.

Emma shuffled to the kitchen and found herself stalled by yet another pain hitting her, with far more force than the previous ones.  She wanted to curl up on the floor but curling wasn’t really an option when you were the shape she was and Emma was scared that getting on to the floor would mean never getting off it. 

The pain went again, but the panic rising in her chest looked set to take over.  All her fears about what might happen after the baby came were suddenly insignificant compared to how she was going to get through this on her own when no one knew where she was or what was happening.

Emma blinked back hot tears and tried to make a plan.  Her phone was across the street in the kitchen of her own place but it might as well have been in Narnia for all the good it did her right then.  It seemed unfair, but a little poetic, that someone who’d spent so much of her life alone would have to give birth alone as well, with only a couple of dead rats for company.

It would certainly be a story to tell later on; she’d just have to live through it first.

The tears were falling freely now and exhaustion, pain and the overwhelming feeling that none of this was fair kept Emma from attempting to leave for her own house.   She lasted through another pain and then sank to the floor, no longer worried about getting back up again. 

Emma wasn’t certain how long she sat there, how long the pains lasted, or how long she had in between them.  The last two were things she was supposed to know; she could remember that much from the baby classes.  But there was no clock in the kitchen and no Killian and, well, it wasn’t that she was blaming him for not being here, but keeping track of the timings was supposed to be his job and he wasn’t here to do it.

And then the tears started again, and the pain, and Emma managed to haul herself onto her hands and knees which took some of the pressure off her back but didn’t help the uncomfortable feeling between her legs, a feeling only exacerbated by the fact her pants were soaking and there was a distinct puddle on the floor and she stopped feeling sorry for herself for a moment to worry about the hardwood.

But she felt the despair creep back again when the pain re-started and she desperately wanted to change position but couldn’t figure out how to do it without making everything worse.  It was as if her own body had turned against her, violently cramping so that everything in her mind was just pain, pain, pain.

In the corner of her vision something moved, but when Emma looked in that direction there was nothing there.  It was just an echo of a memory, really.   Something her mind had dredged up from that time when Killian lived here and Mr Smee was her constant companion and biggest pain in the ass.

Possibly she was remembering a feeling as much as anything.  The feeling of being scared and alone and totally out of her depth and the thing that brought her the most comfort was an elderly ginger cat sitting on orange Formica.

She never wanted to see that Formica again, but she desperately missed the cat.  And, right now, she desperately wanted the cat’s owner there with her.

“Oh, Mr Smee,” Emma sobbed, feeling a little silly in the process but realising that at that moment, talking to a ghost cat was probably the least of her problems.  “I don’t want to do this alone.”

In what Emma, at first, took to be another figment of her imagination she heard the sound of boots on the steps at the back door and a dark shape cast a shadow into the kitchen, banishing the small orange ghost she’d been imagining.  “Emma?” Killian’s voice asked and Emma wondered whether she really had to answer that because she was more than a little preoccupied and pretty certain that Killian could tell it was really her, crouching on the floor of the rental cottage.

Not a position she’d exactly expected to be in, but at least she wasn’t alone anymore.

And she would have said something along those lines to Killian, but everything was tight and painful and she didn’t seem to have the energy to waste on words.

“What’s happening?  Are you alright?” Killian asked, crouching down in front of her and, in her head, Emma answered ‘Baby’s coming and I’m fine but in quite a lot of pain, but I’m really glad you’re here.’

She didn’t actually speak, though.  She just made a kind of grunting noise and hoped that conveyed everything.

It didn’t because Killian immediately asked “Is something wrong?  What’s wrong?” and, although the pain was easing again and Emma was able to string a few words together the first thing that popped into her head was something unrelated to most of her current issues.  “Rats.  Dead rats.  They’re in a bag, on the counter.  But we need to get them out of here before the new tenants come tomorrow.”

Killian’s eyes flicked to the plastic bag, and then down to Emma again.  “But you’re…is this?”

“I think I might have ruined the varnish on the floor,” she said, as her voice broke from trying to hold in the sob that threatened to erupt out of her.  “I’m leaking.”

“That’s…that means, this is labour?” Killian asked, as though he didn’t want to believe it.  Emma couldn’t blame him.  She’d been in denial for considerably longer than he had.

“Yeah.  I…ooh.”  That was the end of her ability to make conversation for a while and she concentrated on just getting through the pain while Killian hovered looking increasingly desperate.

“I’m supposed to be timing these, aren’t I, love?” he asked, with a forced joviality that made Emma grit her teeth.

“Yes.”  Her answer was terse and almost as tight as her belly felt.

“Alright, so let’s get you home.”  Killian put his hands out in front of him, reaching over to guide Emma up to a standing position, but she shrank back.

“Nope.  Not moving.”  Emma was starting to think that maybe hospitals were over-rated and, given she was as comfortable as she could manage at the present time, it was better to just stay put.  Why rock the boat when you could just end up drowning?  Or something like that, anyway.  Emma wasn’t entirely certain. 

“You can’t stay here, love,” Killian said, and Emma was tempted to dispute that fact because she could, if she wanted, but she didn’t have the energy for an argument at the present time.

“Fine!” she huffed, like Killian was making the most ridiculous request in the world, and it did actually feel a little like that to Emma who was incapable of explaining just how precarious everything was and that if she moved a little the wrong way she was just going to end up in more pain than she already was.

Killian seemed oblivious to everything going on in Emma’s mind and just concentrated on helping her stand, touching her almost too gently, like he was afraid she might break.

Emma was kind of afraid of the same thing, but probably envisaged something altogether more explosive than Killian.  The pressure between her legs was intense and, between that and the nastiness of her wet pants and underwear, her gait was not only slow but bow legged like a cowboy’s, as they painstakingly made their way to their own house.

“Just watch out for the…” Killian said, as they pushed through the front door but Emma had stopped dead in her tracks long before she stubbed her toe on the object that barred her path; having reached the house as Killian had insisted Emma was ready to stop all this completely unnecessary moving about.

She tried to focus on what it was that Killian had warned her about and couldn’t, for a moment, figure out why the carving that Killian had been sent to collect had ended up in their hallway because they’d had the conversation about it not being a storage area for every piece of crap Killian thought was interesting.  But before she could summon the energy to remind Killian of that fact, he kind of waved at it proudly and Emma took a closer look.

It was a rocking horse.  A beautiful, wooden rocking horse and Emma didn’t mind it sitting in the hallway at all.  “I got that from a guy who lives out near Hel, I think he’s Kristoff’s cousin.  He carves when he’s not working…”  
  
“He’s an accountant,” Emma finished.  “It’s, it’s…lovely…” she wished she had the energy to be more grateful, but Killian would have to wait until some point in the future when Emma was feeling more like herself.  Right then she was starting to feel consumed by a process over which she didn’t seem to have any control which was a terrifying idea if she stopped to think about it.

She supposed that’s why her brain wasn’t working as well as it should do.  Non-essential services were being turned off and it should make her feel more…something?  But Emma couldn’t figure out what.

“I’ve got the bag, let’s go,” Killian said, brandishing the overnight bag that had been exempted from the rule about things lurking in hallways.  Emma realised she really did need to focus on something because important things seemed to be happening, but her brain was stuck back it where had been before this all started.

“Did you get the rats?  Can’t leave them there for…the new tenants…”

Killian looked perplexed, then annoyed, and then, when Emma gave him a look that showed she meant business, he looked resigned.  “I’ll be right back.  Don’t, uh…I’ll be right back, love.”

If she’d had more fight left in her, Emma might have said that of course she wasn’t going anywhere, she hadn’t wanted to come _here_ in the first place.  But Killian was out the door before she could get any words out and back again as she was coming down off another wave of pain.

They felt different now, or maybe she was getting used to it.

“Right, rats deposited in the bin.  I’ll be having some words with Hook later on for worrying you like that, and now…let’s off.”

_Let’s not._ Emma thought, but couldn’t bring herself to say it.  Instead she allowed Killian to help her to his truck, one he’d bought only recently, but didn’t climb into the passenger seat.

“I need…” she started, and then had to stop to collect her thoughts against the wall of pain pushing them aside.

“Yes, love?” Killian asked, all too eagerly.

“A towel.”

“Isn’t that…I mean boiled water and the like, for…not for a hospital?  We’re going to the hospital, right?”  For the first time Killian sounded a little worried about the whole thing, and there was a part of Emma that was relieved she wasn’t the only one, but she stuck to trying to explain the situation she was in as best she could.

“I…leaking, the…stuff.  I just want to sit on a towel.”

“Right.  Yes.”  Killian disappeared back into the house and Emma mentally checked _not ruin vehicle’s upholstery on way to hospital_ off a list that no midwife or well-meaning friend had ever told her she’d have to come up with.

Why had no one explained how gross this part was?

Killian jogged back and placed the towel on the passenger seat with a flourish, before bowing, slightly, and indicating she should get in.

Her power of speech returning again Emma muttered “So now you decide to be a gentleman,” as he helped her up, wishing she wasn’t wet, oozy and quite so round.

So much for dignity.

“Oh, I’m always a gentleman,” Killian replied, closing the door and jogging around to the driver’s side.  He gave her a wide grin as he started the engine, and she did her best to return it, although mostly she was struck with the idea that it might be nice to just punch Killian in the face.

He was enjoying this far too much.

The road was a lot more uneven than Emma remembered it.  Every pothole and rut sent shockwaves through her body and made the pain, pain which was now making her restless and unable to sit still, worse.

It was torture being trapped in the car and she wasn’t certain how she was going to make it all the way to Camelot.

Except that, apparently, she wasn’t, because Killian reached a stop sign and then turned the car in the opposite direction, heading not towards Camelot but…oh hell, no!

“Not Storybrooke,” Emma said, through gritted teeth, as a contraction lifted her up off the seat.  Something different was happening now and she just wanted to get to Camelot and see the doctors and find out.

“Hmm,” Killian said not actually disagreeing with her, but not actually turning the truck around either. 

“So much for the gentleman thing,” Emma grumbled, the words sounding breathless more than anything.

Emma wanted to put up more of a fight, to remind Killian that he was supposed to be her champion during the birth, to make sure that she got what she wanted and was comfortable, and all the other crap they spouted off to you in birthing class.  And it wasn’t like Emma wanted a whirlpool and candlelight and a special playlist or anything, she just wanted to give birth in the hospital she’d picked with the doctor she’d chosen.

And it didn’t seem like too much to ask, even though she would admit, grudgingly, that things were progressing far too fast for her liking and that if there was any chance of getting some nice pain medication soon she’d better get herself to the nearest medical facility, plans be damned.

“You alright, love?”  Killian’s voice broke through her reverie and she nodded a silent yes.  She’d had the whole debate in her head now and they didn’t need to go through it again.

Storybrooke hospital it was.

Killian pulled up outside the front door and parked in the section marked for emergency vehicles.  “You can’t park here,” she reminded him, but he got out of the truck and walked around to open her door before answering.

“You going to give me a ticket, Officer Swan?”

Emma gritted her teeth as another contraction hit and Killian’s rather cheeky grin slid off his face as he watched her.  “You’re not alright, are you love?”

He was worried, Emma realised, and the urge to punch him lessened dramatically.

She shook her head, and Killian helped her out of the truck, grabbing her bag from the back, and he lead her into the emergency room reception area which seemed like the wrong move altogether, because shouldn’t they be heading to the maternity suite, or whatever it was Storybrooke had?

From out of nowhere Aurora appeared, pushing a wheelchair.  “Emma!  You having some pains?”

“Yep,” Killian said, far too brightly for Emma’s liking and, clearly, deciding that _now_ was a good time to step up and be her champion.  She found herself bundled into the wheelchair and pushed through a set of doors and then into an examination room, where Aurora gestured to the bed in the centre. 

“Hop on up and one of the doctors can take a look shortly,” she said, starting back out of the room.

“I think it’d better be sooner rather than later,” Killian said, taking Emma’s arm and lifting her up, but keeping his eyes on Aurora’s departing back.

“Well…OK,” Aurora replied, looking at Emma appraisingly.

“I’m all wet,” Emma supplied gesturing to her pants, but she wasn’t sure if Aurora heard her, as the door swung shut and she was gone.

"Do you want to get out of those," Killian asked, and Emma nodded, pushing up on the arms of the wheelchair to stand up.

"No!" Killian said, loudly and sounding a little panicked.  It made Emma freeze, wondering what was wrong.

“I should help?” he added and Emma was almost certain that wasn’t meant to be a question, but it came out as one, which made her wonder at what point she’d suddenly become the expert on birthing protocol.

Killian helped her to stand and peel away the wet clothing.  It was lovely to get the nasty, wet fabric away from her, but slightly mortifying that there was still fluid leaking out…and other stuff. 

So much for dignity.

Together they got Emma into a hospital gown that had been left folded up on the bed, and then onto the bed itself where she twisted from side to side trying to find a comfortable position.

“Tell me what you need, love,” Killian asked, almost in a whisper. 

“Nothing…just.  I think she needs to come out now.”

Before Killian had time to dispute the baby’s gender, Dr Whale burst into the room, Aurora trailing after him, pushing some kind of machine.  “OK, Emma,” he announced, as though he had a much larger audience for whatever performance he was about to put on.  “I hear you’ve been having some pains? Aurora couldn’t find me any of your history.”

He turned to glare at the nurse who had busied herself with the machine and was doing her best to ignore Dr Whale.  Emma felt a little sorry for her, and said “I’m not…supposed to be here…” at the same time as Killian added, “The baby was supposed to be born at Camelot, but we couldn’t make it there.”

“Uh-huh, favouring the competition, are we?”  Emma couldn’t tell if Dr Whale was joking around and, frankly, at that moment didn’t care.  “How far along are you?” he asked.

“Thirty eight weeks tomorrow,” Emma replied and Dr Whale smiled broadly, like she’d told him a joke, before replying.

“Well, I think you’ll still get to check out their, I hear pretty fancy, birthing pools, Emma, so I shouldn’t worry.  Lots of women get a scare before labour starts.”

“Not scared,” Emma said, through gritted teeth and it was almost, perhaps, mostly true now.  It was like she’d finally stopped fighting the inevitable and was prepared to go with it, if only Dr Whale would get with the program.

“She’s been in a lot of pain,” Killian tried explaining.  “I think this is really it.  Shouldn’t we…” 

If Killian had had some great idea, Emma never got to hear it as Dr Whale just spoke over the top of him.  “Uh-huh, let’s just have a feel…”  He placed his hands on Emma’s belly, as everything tightened up and Emma watched him frown and then motion for her to put her legs up.  “I just need to examine you…” he said, and then stopped.

“What?” Killian asked, shuffling his feet as though he was tempted to go and look under Emma’s hospital gown as well, but wasn’t sure if that was the done thing.  He looked from the doctor, to Emma, and back again, brows knit in confusion and worry.

“That’s definitely a baby, and that’s coming out now.  OK, Emma, we’re going to get you ready to push.”

Up until now Emma had been terrified of hearing those words, but now that the time was actually here, it was kind of a relief to actually know that it was happening, finally, that soon it would all be over and the baby would be here.

Aurora connected the monitor and Emma felt Killian squeeze her hand and she squeezed back, as much for his comfort as for her own.  It would be OK, Dr Whale was here now, and, sure, he wasn’t her first choice…or her second, but at least she wasn’t alone….

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Killian asked abruptly, and Emma squeezed his hand extra hard, but it didn’t make him stop glaring at the person Emma was hoping was going to organise pain relief soon.

“Excuse me?” Dr Whale, asked.

“I mean, shouldn’t we get the other one…Doc…whatever?  Shouldn’t he be here, looking after Emma?”

“I’m afraid,” Dr Whale replied, “That Doc is off fishing this afternoon, so unless you want to come down here and take over, it’s me or no one.”

Killian nodded, but the way he was clenching his jaw told Emma he still wasn’t happy.  Neither was she when another contraction hit.  “Something for the pain…” she whispered, but Dr Whale, who’d stood up and had his back to her as he conferred with Aurora, turned back and shook his head.

“Sorry Emma, too late for that.  The baby’s well and truly on its way.”  That took the shine off being in the hospital as far as Emma was concerned, but Dr Whale sat down again and looked at her seriously.  “OK, next contraction I want you to take a deep breath in and push down…ready, Emma?”

She nodded, and then that was it, she was pushing, apparently.  It wasn’t something you were supposed to concentrate on…or at least when they told you about it in birthing class it was so matter of fact it seemed like one tiny hurdle before the baby.

In reality it was a little gruelling.  And, at one point, Emma insisted she couldn’t go on and just had to wait out the contraction.  The hospital room wasn’t warm, but sweat was dripping down her brow and into her eyes, and her hand kept twisting in Killian’s.

After that she lost all concept of time, anyway.  Later, when things were calmer and less painful, she could remember that just when she thought all dignity was lost forever she’d been forcibly rolled onto her side and her foot placed against Killian’s shoulder so she could brace.  Then she’d been twisted back and they’d tried to get her to sit up a little more at which point she’d shouted at everyone in the room that it wasn’t comfortable because he back hurt too much.

But no one really paid much attention to her anymore, far more interested in what was coming out of her.  Even Killian had got over his fear of the rules and was watching interestedly, far more interested than Emma was, anyway.

And then, when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, Dr Whale said “There’s the head,” and Emma hadn’t really connected that statement to anything much, still being annoyed about the fact her back was at an odd angle and it really hurt. 

“One last push, Emma,” Dr Whale said.  “Give it everything.”

She did, and it was such a wave of relief when this passed, that she finally ignored Killian trying to keep her sitting up and Emma fell back against the hospital bed.  It was only the cry of the baby and Killian whispering “Well done, love,” and kissing her forehead that brought her back to herself.

There was a baby.

“Congratulations, it’s a boy,” Dr Whale announced, sort of waving the bloodied, purplish looking creature at them, before placing it on Emma’s chest.  She put her arms around the towel it was wrapped in, and did her best to give the kid some kind of comfort, but he just blinked at her a couple of times, and Killian reached out and stroked his cheek reverently.  The baby’s eyes never left Emma, though, and she was trying to work out what colour they were when Dr Whale whisked him up again with a brisk “Let’s get him checked over, before turning to where Aurora had a set of scales and a clean towel laid out. 

For a moment Emma remained mostly stunned, not really certain how at all to take that news. She'd been concentrating for so long on just getting through labour that she'd almost forgotten about everything that came after.  Now some of her old fears returned and she did an emotional check to see if she felt like running from the room and leaving them all to it.

She didn't. Mostly was she felt was an odd mixture of relief, love and a certain invincibility.

Emma watched Killian crane his neck to see what was going on with the baby.  "Go look," she said as another doctor, one Emma didn't recognise came in to start checking the baby and Dr Whale came back over to Emma who, she was reminded, still needed to deliver the placenta.

Just...ugh.

After that indignity there was muttering about stitches and Emma was starting to wish she could just walk over to where Killian was standing chatting to Aurora because that looked like more fun.

When Dr Whale had obviously decided that Emma had been poked and prodded enough, he moved away to do something at the computer terminal stationed in the corner of the room and Killian walked back over with the baby in his arms.

“Hey,” Emma said, softly, holding her own arms out to take the baby back.

“You’re shaking, love.  You alright?” Killian asked, and it seemed to Emma that he’d been asking her that question all day.  This time, maybe for the first time, she had the right answer.

“I’m fine.”

“Fast labours can do that,” a new voice said, as Doc came into the room, walked over and peered at the baby.  “Sorry I missed all the excitement.” 

“Well, it wasn’t really supposed to be like this…”  Emma felt a little embarrassed.  It was one thing for Dr Whale to know they were intending to go to Camelot for the birth, it was another for their neighbour, the one Emma had been hiding from since she’d started to show, to find out that she’d shunned his services altogether.

But Doc didn’t seem to mind.  “I knew you’d be great,” he said.

“How?” Emma asked.

Doc tapped the side of his nose.  “A little fairy told me.”  With that he walked over to where Dr Whale and Aurora were finishing up and Killian and Emma were both silent for a moment, watching the baby.

Emma pulled back the blanket and looked at one of the baby’s tiny hands.  “I didn’t ask, is everything there?” 

Killian perched on the edge of the hospital bed and put an arm around her, stroking the baby’s head with two fingers.  “Yes, he seems to be in order.  If a little on the small side.  He’s tiny.  8 pounds exactly they said.  That’s smaller than the cats…definitely smaller than Hook.”

“I just pushed him out of my body, Killian.  He’s enormous.”

Killian chuckled, but Emma wasn’t really joking.  She was certain her view of things might change at some point, but, right then, the baby in her arms didn’t seem tiny like everyone said newborns were supposed to be.

She was quite amazed that he’d ever fit inside of her at all.

“You’re a bloody marvel, Emma,” Killian said, a hint of awe in his voice and she had to admit that she did feel a little bit pleased with herself for actually making it through the whole experience.

“And you were great, too.  I’m glad one of us was calm.”

“Anything but, love.  I was terrified.  I just…I didn’t want to let you down.”  That was surprising.  Emma had spent the whole afternoon thinking that Killian had somehow managed to find some magic spell that helped him cope with anything.  It was almost a relief to realise that he’d been terrified too.

And she definitely didn’t want to punch anyone, anymore.

“I’m just sorry that I wasn’t there earlier,” Killian continued.  “You’d just disappeared and I thought…”

“You thought I’d left you?” Emma asked, quietly, not looking at Killian but watching the baby attempt new facial expressions and wave the hand he’d got free from the blanket.  His eyes, now she got a good look at them, were very, very blue.

“No.  Never.”  Killian was vehement on that point.  “I thought something had happened to you, and it had, and it killed me that you were doing it alone.”

“I wasn’t…” Emma started to confess, but then stopped, thinking of something she wanted to ask instead.  “How did you find me, anyway?”

“I…I mean, it sounds ridiculous now,” Killian laughed in a way that suggested what he was about to say was the silliest thing he could think of.  “But when I got home and your phone was there and your car was gone…”

“It wouldn’t start so I left it outside the pet store.  Leroy brought me home.”

“Right.  Well.  I know that _now_.”

“Sorry.”  Emma wished she’d at least stopped to send a text message or something.

“It hardly matters now.  I found you…well, because Mr Smee showed me where you were.”

“Wait.  What?”

Emma looked at Killian’s face and watched as he ducked his head to the side before replying.  “I realise he wasn’t really there, love.  But there was _something_ there, across the road when I came back outside to look for you.  It was probably just the sunlight, but I could have sworn it was…Mr Smee.  And then it sort of disappeared around the side of the cottage, so I followed, and, well.  There you were.”

“I think I saw him too,” Emma confessed.  “And I can’t even blame the reflection of orange Formica.  And when I said that I couldn’t do it alone, there you were.  Like…like he fetched you for me.”   She’d blamed the heightened emotions she was going through at the time, but who knew?

Maybe she was really being haunted by Mr Smee’s ghost?  There were worst things she could imagine.

“I’m glad he’s still looking out for you, love.”

“Yeah.”  It was a nice feeling and maybe Leroy had been right, earlier, when he’d said that was why everyone was so interested in her personal business.  Maybe it wasn’t gossip anymore, maybe it was actually because Storybrooke was home and all of them, excepting maybe Kristoff’s weird cousin who lives in the woods, were a kind of extended family.

It was a nice thought, knowing the baby would have this all his life.

But maybe she really needed to get him a name.

Killian seemed to be on the same wavelength.  He cleared his throat and said “Well, should I get the list of names from the baby bag, or are you going to just hold him up and announce it to the assembled throng?”

“Really?  You think I want to go all _Lion King_ about now?”

Killian shrugged.  “You were the one in charge of the name.”

“Yeah…about that.”  It was time to confess all, Emma supposed.  “There isn’t a list.”

“There isn’t?”

“No, I just…it’s really _hard_ naming a person.”  Emma realised she sounded a little whiny, but gave herself a pass given what she’d just gone through.  “Plus I really thought he was a girl and girl names are impossible…and, anyway.”

“But you were so adamant that you were handling it.  I just, I thought…”  Killian trailed off.

“What?”

“That it was because it was the one thing you knew your mother had done for you.  The blanket she left you in…I just thought it was because you wanted that connection.”

“Oh.”  Emma hadn’t really thought about it in those terms, but maybe Killian was right.  It was the one thing she knew about the woman who abandoned her all that time ago; she’d wanted her daughter to be named Emma.

“I guess I don’t know what else mothers do,” Emma said.

“Well, you can find out now, love.”

“But what if I…what if I’m like her?  What if it gets too much for me and I run?  You told me, years ago, that you weren’t like your father, but what if I’m like my mother?  What if I’m not cut out for this?”

“Oh, Emma.  I know you are.”

“How?  How can you know?”

Killian shrugged.  “I don’t know, but I do.  I have faith in you.  And that’s good enough for me.”  He leaned forward and kissed her forehead and Emma thought that maybe it would be good enough for her too. 

“Now,” he said, sounding brisk.  “Name?”

“I do have one idea,” Emma said.  “William.”

“William?”  Killian looked thoughtful.

“I looked it up.  And it’s his name…Mr Smee’s.  His first name was William and I thought it was kind of fitting because without Mr Smee…”

“William wouldn’t be here.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a few moments.  Dr Whale and Doc had left and Aurora called over that she’d be back soon to move Emma up to a room in the maternity ward, where she could take a shower and get something to eat.   The last part sounded good to Emma, who felt like she’d got her appetite back.

“We just can’t tell him.  Ever,” Emma said vehemently.  “He probably shouldn’t know he was named after a cat.”

“Yeah,” Killian agreed.  “Family secret then.”

“Family secret,” Emma repeated, trying the idea out for size.  For a long time she’d thought about herself and Killian, and the cats, as a collection of waifs and strays living the same place.  The ones who had no one else in the world, who’d banded together because it made sense.

But they were, weren’t they?  A family.  She had a family and it didn’t really matter if she’d named her baby after a cat because he was her son and he was everything she ever wanted.

“Emma, love?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you, uh…ever thought about getting married?”

“Yes.”

“To me?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe we should do that, then.”

“Yeah.  I think we should.”

It gave her a certain kind of peace, Emma realised, to accept that things were great and might actually, for once, stay that way.  That the things she’d been given wouldn’t be ripped from her arms and that not all endings were bad.  Sometimes they were just a beginning.

“Of course Leroy will be annoyed he lost that bet,” Emma said.  “I promised I’d try to hold out for next Tuesday.”

“Well…we can blame the lad,” Killian said, gesturing to William who was sticking his tongue out and frowning in a very familiar fashion.  Emma thought that he might be getting hungry too.

“Yeah, let’s blame the kid.”

“Sounds like a plan, love.”

“I love you.  Even if do seem keen to throw your son under the bus.”

“And I love you.  Precisely because you’re so willing to join me in throwing him under the bus.  We make a good pair, love.”

“We make a good _family_.”  Emma didn’t think there even had to be a maybe in that sentence.

“We do, Emma.  We really do.”

Aurora walked back in.  “Right.  Swan-Jones family, are you reading to move on?”

“Yeah,” Emma said, holding William a little tighter.  “We really are.”

 

**Thanks, as always, for reading, and a big, big thank you to all those who have liked, favourited, re-blogged, reviewed or given kudos to this story along the way.  You are all stars!**  



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